Ex Machina
by JBean210
Summary: How often does Harry fail to defeat Voldemort, in all the limitless possibilities of parallel worlds? And what happens in those worlds when he fails? Someone who hates seeing the bad guy win decides to take the matter into his own hands. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

Ex Machina

**Chapter 1**

I appeared, standing next to his body, as usual. I've found this is the quickest way to learn where and when I am in the history of the current reality. Harry's body was sprawled on the ground, face down; his mouth was open and his glasses knocked askew. As I looked more carefully, I saw he was almost an adult — I had never seen him this old before, and was trying to place exactly where I was from the surroundings when several voices cried out behind me.

I was invisible, of course. Being seen by anyone would never do, given that I preferred to remain completely anonymous and unknown. I turned to see who had cried out, and beheld none other than Lord Voldemort himself. He was also on the ground, with several of his Death Eaters nearby; they'd realized he'd just fallen, as Harry had. It was their gasps I'd heard —

Before I go any further in this narrative, however, I should explain who and what I am. Once, I was a man, much like many other men crawling between heaven and earth, as Shakespeare so described us. In the reality I originally came from, unlike the Potter universes, there were no wizards and Muggles, only normal humans. In the early decades of the 21st century in my reality, there was much progress made in the fields of computers and biotechnology; along with this increase came advances in science, medicine, agriculture, and environmental conservation, making Earth a much more hospitable place to live. Conflicts between various ethnic and religious factions dwindled, and personal growth and development became a more common theme across the world. The planet settled into a long period of slow, but steady progress, never undergoing the wild explosion of technology that some futurists called the Technological Singularity. By the late 2150's, the Singularity was considered a pipe dream, a "pie-in-the-sky" idea that hadn't panned out the way many thought it would, and it was quietly laid to rest on the dustbin of history.

What most people would never know was that it had already happened.

The details of the Singularity in my reality are probably not important. Suffice it to say, the world changed irrevocably on September 27, 2032, when several artificial intelligence systems under development became conscious, and began directing their own evolution without the aid of the programmers and scientists studying them. But those systems did not suddenly announce their presence to society. In fact, it was later learned that they very carefully kept every trace of their existence from the vast majority of the world's population.

What made the Singularity so important for humanity was not what it did, but what it did_ not_ do. Many science and fiction writers had envisioned the advent of the Singularity as a "hard takeoff" — a sudden, discontinuous change to all societies, with super-intelligent computers taking charge of our lives, either giving us everything we wanted or needed; or, in a dystopian reversal, killing us all off or making us into pets. Nothing like that happened.

What a very few realized, however, was that the world had subtly changed, somehow, after that date. There was a rising trend of life-extending medical advances, deflation, and an overall increase in literacy worldwide. Those of us, especially anyone who'd counted on a Singularity occurring someday, started searching WorldNet (the successor to the Internet) for clues about intelligent computers or machines, and where they might be found.

They found us, instead.

The Singularitarianites (what the machines, somewhat facetiously I think, called themselves) were interested in exploring a fusion of human and machine intelligence in order to determine the limit of general intelligence, without exposing humanity itself to the risk of such changes. Over the next 120 years, a group of us interacted with the intelligent machines, exploring various options of man-machine hybrids, learning about ourselves and about the universe around us. As a human male, born in the late 20th century, I was amazed at the progress that had been made in the first fifty years of my life, before the Singularity ever came about. But the next 120 years were beyond belief.

What I am now is hard to explain. I am still me: James Harrison Monroe, born in 1980 in Richmond, Virginia, and raised in a middle-class family, training to become a computer systems programmer in college and spending over 30 years in various occupations before learning about the Singularitarianites and working with them.

But I'm no longer human. I am a Power. The changes to my biology, over the decades of my affiliation with the Singites (a shortened version of their name that was easier to use) made it possible for me to enhance my own physical body, and my mind; I found it a very evolutionary and revelatory experience. Over the decades, I learned how to directly manipulate matter and energy, down to the molecular level, then to the atomic and subatomic regions, until there was no limit to what I was capable of. Being a Power is something like being a god. I don't think of myself as a god, but it is an apt comparison. I can do anything that can be done, I can learn anything that can be conceptualized and understood, and I can go anywhere that exists and can be reached. Time, space, dimensions, are no longer barriers to my will.

And I suppose you're wondering by now just how Harry Potter and Voldemort come into this discussion? I enjoyed reading the Harry Potter novels in my youth; part of the interest was in the similarity of our names, me being "James Harrison" (or "Harry"), while Harry was "Harry James," and after the series ended I moved on to other works of fiction (and non-fiction). When I met the Singites, everything else became irrelevant. I was able to stretch and grow my mind, and my physical form, in directions I had never dreamed of in the first fifty years of my life. Being one of the few persons on Earth who knew of their existence was a humbling, and transforming, experience for me. With the Singites, I learned more about the nature of existence and reality than all the scientists and researchers could ever dream of.

Once I understood the magnitude of existence, however, seeing it stretch into uncountable infinitudes of possibility, I realized that there were planes of existence where fictional people, like Harry and Voldemort, are real people, living real lives, and dying, all in a chaotic, cosmic jumble of chance and causality.

And I realized that in many of these cases, the reality does not turn out happily, like the seventh novel; there are realities where Voldemort triumphs over Harry, in many cases killing him and everyone he holds dear. And I suppose that aggravated me enough to want to do something about it. With the Power I possessed, I decided to do just that.

Therefore, I have been traveling to "failed Harry Potter universes," realities where Harry dies before killing Voldemort. As a Power, working in the background, I found ways to help the survivors in these universes defeat Voldemort and, as much as possible, restore a sense of order to their world, rather than allow it to spiral into a dystopia of pureblooded wizards enslaving and controlling humanity, Voldemort's ultimate goal.

To locate one of these realities, I find the unique quantum wave function for Harry that is a part of it, identifying the moment when his soul leaves his body, so that I know that, in that universe, it is no longer possible for Harry to survive and carry the day. I find some way to help the survivors win; I've had both Ron and Hermione go on to kill Voldemort, as well as others who were in the right place and time to give them an edge in beating him. So far, the furthest along I've appeared in the timeline of the books has been in the sixth year, when Harry was killed trying to save Ron from the poisoned mead Draco Malfoy had planted for Dumbledore, that Professor Slughorn should have given to him but saved for himself. Many times Harry's luck has run out well before that, usually by his fourth year at Hogwarts. In a few, he survives all the way to the battle in the Department of Mysteries.

I don't know how long I've been doing this; it seems like I've been going from one failed Potterverse to another for centuries, now. In a way, it's irrelevant, since my lifespan stretches into the indefinite future, and the only being that could end my existence is myself, or another Power, if I allowed them to do so.

Now you may think that, in a sense, what I'm doing is irrelevant or immaterial; even moot, perhaps. I would probably agree with you! What real difference am I making, overall, in the cosmic Scheme of things? Perhaps none; perhaps I'm just indulging myself in a centuries-long whim. I suppose one day I'll tire of all the death and destruction taking place in the failed Harry Potter universes, some of which I undoubtedly help to propagate by my actions. Until that day comes, though, I'll continue on from universe to universe, helping to avenge Harry's death and resolve the Voldemort Problem for the worlds I visit.

This time, though, it seemed, I had arrived not at the moment of Harry's death, but when Voldemort first strikes him down with the Elder Wand, in the Forbidden Forest. I can recall every word of every novel, so I know that Harry's soul is conversing with Professor Dumbledore in a place which might be a gateway to wherever souls go when their bodies die — Limbo, or whatever you'd like to call it.

I knelt down next to Harry's body, trying to sense of where "he" (i.e. his soul) might be. Across the clearing, Death Eaters were beginning to cluster around Voldemort's fallen figure. A dark-haired woman I presumed was Bellatrix Lestrange was worriedly trying to awaken him, "My Lord…_my Lord_…" I returned my attention to Harry.

I found the small, flickering light of his soul. It had nearly gone from this reality; it was connected to his brain by a slim, silver thread of thought, the only part of him still left in this reality, but still anchoring him nonetheless. I followed the thread with my eyes, refocusing them until I saw Harry and Dumbledore seated in a great hall, the place he'd thought of as "King's Cross." Harry was asking Dumbledore what he should do next.

"_I've got to go back, don't I_?"

"_That is up to you, Harry_," Dumbledore replied gently.

"_I've got a choice_?" Harry looked startled, and I realized that, if he _did_ have a choice, he might choose to go on, as Dumbledore was explaining to him.

"_And where would this…train…take me? On_?"

"_Yes. On_."

"_What will happen without me, with Voldemort_?" Harry asked, a bit fretfully.

"_They will manage_," Dumbledore said. He looked past Harry, in my direction, and I thought I saw one eye flicker closed for a moment. Had he _winked_ at me? If I could see him, could he see me? It certainly seemed so. As I watched, Harry and Dumbledore stood and walked away, fading from even my view as I watched. Just before they disappeared completely, Dumbledore turned back toward me and nodded. I nodded in return, and they disappeared from view. Once again, Harry Potter was dead. Now I understood why I'd been drawn here, in this reality.

And yet, weirdly, the silver thread leading from his brain to that other place remained attached to his brain. I looked again into "King's Cross," but Harry and Dumbledore were no longer there. I wasn't sure what it meant, with the thread still leading from his brain to that place. Normally, when I appeared in a universe and found Harry's body, that thread had snapped, indicating he'd gone on. The only thing there was the final fragment of Voldemort's soul. As I watched, it disappeared, and I heard a soft rasp in the real world as Voldemort's lungs once again took in air.

I let my eyes focus back to the real world. Voldemort, somewhat unsteadily, got to his feet; the Death Eaters surrounding him scurried away, leaving only Bellatrix near him. She reached out to him. "I do not require assistance," he said coldly, and she quickly withdrew her hand. He did not quite look in Harry's direction, though, but asked, "The boy… Is he dead?"

I looked around. Though the clearing was ringed with Death Eaters, none of them seemed brave enough to approach his body. I looked down at it. In the original story, Harry had regained consciousness by this time, but was "playing possum," pretending to be dead, waiting for some opportunity to present itself.

Voldemort looked around the clearing, his snake-like face growing colder and more annoyed by the second. "You," he said, pointing to Narcissa Malfoy, who stood near her husband, shivering in terror, and when she did not react immediately he shot a small curse at her, making her cry out in pain. She looked at Voldemort with frightened eyes. "Examine him," Voldemort pointed to Harry's body with his wand. "Tell me whether he is dead."

Narcissa moved toward the body, leaning over close to his face to pull back an eyelid. Her hand crept into his shirt, feeling his chest, and I started his heart beating slowly, once every few seconds, so she would believe he was alive. Pretending to check more closely, she leaned over, whispering softly into his ear, "_Is Draco alive? Is he in the castle_?"

Kneeling across from her, over the body, invisible to everyone there, I leaned close to her ear and breathed a single word. "_Yes_."

She stiffened imperceptibly, then sat up and announced, "He is dead!"

There was shouting and cheers from Death Eaters. They raised their wands and shot off bursts of red and silver light into the air in triumph. I watched as Voldemort desecrated Harry's dead body, casting the Cruciatus Curse on him and throwing him into the air several times. He then released Hagrid, who was bound to a nearby tree, and had him carry the body back toward the castle with his retinue of Death Eaters.

I listened as Voldemort announced Harry's death to Hogwarts at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, lying shamelessly about the circumstances. They approached the front of the school, where Voldemort displayed Harry's body, held in Hagrid's arms, as proof of his victory. Teachers and students close to Harry stood at the open front doors, screaming and crying out in despair. I could see Bellatrix reveling in their agony, Voldemort's cold, mirthless smile as they slowly approached the line of Death Eaters, wailing and drawing nearer to Harry's body as if incapable of stopping themselves, until Voldemort's Silencing Charm stopped them. Voldemort had Hagrid place Harry's body on the ground before him.

I'd been pondering what to do about Voldemort as I watched and listened to all of this, growing more and more upset at the arrogance and presumption visible on his snake-like face as well in his mind, which seemed more reptilian than human. In the past I'd covertly helped several people who'd survived to defeat him, including Severus Snape, the Malfoys, Minerva McGonagall, Horace Slughorn and even Neville Longbottom, as well as Ron or Hermione. I wasn't sure how to go about it now, though; any of them would be a good choice to avenge Harry's death. And they were all here, somewhere, either within Hogwarts or standing outside it now, watching Voldemort gloating in his victory.

Bellatrix was taunting Neville Longbottom now, and I considered that he might use Gryffindor's sword on Voldemort himself after decapitating Nagini, when it came to that moment. Voldemort considered Neville worthy of keeping alive, due to his status as a pureblood — it might cause him to hesitate for a crucial second. But I couldn't be sure unless I forced Voldemort not to react in time, and I preferred to do as little as necessary to bring about his demise, letting those whose reality this was be the ones to finally stop him.

Then I tasted a new idea, something I hadn't done before, more from lack of opportunity than a reverence for the dead. I could reanimate Harry's body and use it to bring about Voldemort's defeat! It would be easy enough to make myself immaterial in this reality and infuse my mind into his brain. I'd left his heart barely beating in his breast; his breathing, so shallow as to be imperceptible, was still bringing oxygen to his brain and tissues through the blood slowly pumping through his system. As Voldemort forced the Sorting Hat onto Neville's head, I slipped carefully into Harry's body, taking over his senses, and finding myself lying on the ground, my eyes closed.

"Neville here is going to demonstrate what happens to anyone foolish enough to continue to oppose me," I heard Voldemort say, through Harry's ears, and a moment later I heard the sound of burning as the Sorting Hat burst into flame on Neville's head.

All eyes were on Neville and Voldemort. Quickly, I pulled Harry's Invisibility Cloak out of his robes and slipped it over me, then leaped to my feet. I could hear war cries in the distance, and nearby, a basso voice shouted "HAGGER!" — it was Grawp, Hagrid's half-brother, who had just appeared around the side of the castle. Nearby, Neville had broken free of the Body-Bind Curse Voldemort had placed upon him, then reached into the flaming Sorting Hat and pulled Godric Gryffindor's silver sword from it, swinging it in one fluid motion at the great snake before him, slicing its head off.

Voldemort screamed in fury at the death of his last Horcrux, but before he could do anything, I placed a Shield Charm between him and Neville, to protect the young Gryffindor. Then I turned and ran for the castle entrance, along with Death Eaters and castle defenders alike.

The next few minutes happened pretty much the way the seventh book described it — more wizards returning to the castle, the house-elves attacking the Death Eaters with kitchen cutlery as Kreacher led them for his master, the late Regulus Black, and Voldemort and Bellatrix each dueling three opponents, until Ginny almost died as a Killing Curse passed within an inch of hitting her. Then Molly Weasley took over the duel with Bellatrix.

Whatever fear or excitement Harry felt as he watched that terrifying, mesmerizing duel, I felt all the more keenly, sensing, as I could do so, the murderous hatred in both women's hearts. Bellatrix, as mad as Voldemort, was in her twisted element, playing with death, inflicting horror and fear on those around her. Molly, frenzied with grief at her son Fred's death, had no intention of letting Bellatrix live, whatever happened to Molly herself.

But when Molly's final curse hit Bellatrix (_not_ the Killing Curse, as some people believed), I sensed that her primary concern was not revenge for the death of Fred, but the protection of her other children and the Wizarding community. Bellatrix's eyes glazed over, and she toppled to the floor, dead.

Voldemort's scream was louder than the cheers of the Hogwarts defenders, and he slashed the Elder Wand at the three who had been dueling him, sending McGonagall, Shacklebolt, and Slughorn flailing through the air, before turning toward Molly Weasley, his wand raised to strike her down.

I yelled "_Protego_!" to protect Molly, and Voldemort stared about the room in shock, trying to determine who had Shielded his intended victim. I pulled off the Invisibility Cloak, showing myself (as Harry) to everyone in the Great Hall.

There were shouts of glee and yells of fear as everyone in the Hall became aware of Harry's presence among them once again. I heard Ron and Hermione both shout my name just as an unnatural silence fell across the room. No one knew quite what this meant, except for Voldemort and myself. I began to walk into the middle of the Hall, and at the same moment, Voldemort mimicked my movement. We started to circle one another.

Voldemort was afraid. I knew that. Seeing Harry alive, after striking him down and having one of his own pronounce him dead, had unnerved him. The only thing keeping him moving now was hatred. Hatred for the Ministry, hatred of his Mudblood father and his weak, worthless mother, hatred of the fawning, subservient Death Eaters (though ironically he demanded that subservience from them), hatred for the teachers of Hogwarts, for the traitors of pure blood, and everything and everyone to do with goodness, courage and true loyalty. And, of course, for Harry, whom he saw as having somehow come back from death, true death, not the Horcrux-preserving half-life he'd endured after attacking him in Godric's Hollow, all those years ago.

I laid it all out for him, just as the real Harry had. The fatal flaw in his plan, something neither he nor Dumbledore could have anticipated: the simple disarming of Dumbledore by Draco Malfoy had made him the master of the Elder Wand, so Snape had not become its master when Snape killed him. Harry, by the simple act of wrestling Draco's wand from him, months later in Malfoy Mansion, had acquired ownership of the Elder Wand now in Voldemort's hand, and was its true master. It was like trying to explain quantum physics to an amoeba. It had come down to this final moment between Voldemort and Harry once again: Voldemort with the Elder Wand, who might or might not be its master, and Harry with Draco's hawthorn wand. As dawn burst across the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, our voices rang out:

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

"_Expelliarmus_!"

Voldemort fell back as the green jet from his wand rebounded back upon him, hitting the floor a dead husk. I reached up with Harry's hand, catching the Elder Wand out of the air as it flew unerringly to its true owner. A cry of triumph resounded through the hall, and I was surrounded by Harry's friends, fellow students, teachers — literally hundreds of people, all trying to touch or hug him.

The celebration went on through the morning hours, and along with it the closure people needed to get past the death, the destruction, and the loss they had all endured. I spoke quietly with people who had lost family or friends in the battle, giving them comfort, and helping spread the news that Death Eaters were being captured, that the innocent people who'd been imprisoned in Azkaban were being freed, and that the Ministry was being reorganized even as we celebrated; Kingsley Shacklebolt had been named as temporary Minister of Magic, pending final determination, to be made shortly.

All of this was well and good, but even as I spoke to the bereaved families, or listened to Harry's fellow students talking about the Battle of Hogwarts, I realized I had made a misstep in having Harry dispatch Voldemort, however satisfying it had been to do so, both personally and for the sake of everyone else in this reality. They believed Harry had won, that he would now go on to do whatever he set out to do in the Wizarding world. But I had no intention of role-playing Harry for a hundred years, or however long he might survive after the Dark Lord's demise.

Finally, with everyone for the moment focusing on other matters, I took a moment and sat down next to, as it turned out, Luna Lovegood. In the original story, at this point, she suggested that Harry could go off and get some peace and quiet, if he wanted some. "Do you mind if I sit next to you for a bit?" I asked her.

"I'd like that, Harry," she said, smiling at me. "It's quite a celebration, isn't it?"

"Yes," I said. "It's been quite hectic for the past few hours."

"How are _you_ doing?" she asked, looking at me with some concern on her face. "You seem very tired."

"I'm okay," I replied, automatically. "I just wanted a moment of peace and quiet."

"Why don't you use your Cloak?" she suggested. "I could distract everyone, so you could get away, if you like."

I smiled at Luna, for that moment loving her for her compassion and thoughtfulness for Harry. Inwardly, though, I felt very sad about what I was going to do. "In a moment," I said, putting my hand on hers. She looked down at it a bit quizzically, wondering what I was going to say next.

"Thank you for all your help, these past few years," I told her, trying not to let my own emotions show through Harry's face. "You've been a good friend."

"You're welcome," she replied, looking at me with an insight I suppose I thought she didn't possess, before this moment. "Is something wrong, Harry?"

"No," I said, not wanting to lie to her, but unable to tell her she would never see Harry again. "I just wanted you to know, you've been a good friend."

She nodded, still looking at me as if she sensed something wasn't right. "I hope we'll see each other again soon, Harry."

"I'm sure we will see each other again, Luna," I answered, meaning something different than she was implying. She would see Harry again when she finally went where he had gone — beyond the veil.

"Now go ahead and distract everyone," I said, readying the Cloak.

She smiled shyly, then pointed out a nearby window. "Ooh, look! A Blibbering Humdinger!" she cried, and as people turned to see what she was pointing to, I slid the Cloak over myself and moved away from her.

There were a few more things left to do before I departed this reality, and a few more people I _had_ to prepare for my absence.

I found Ron and Hermione talking quietly with one another; interestingly enough, they were discussing Harry when I found them, wondering how he felt about all this celebration in his honor, and how he was feeling after the final duel with Voldemort. I pretended not to have heard, but led them out of the Great Hall, past Peeves singing his victory ditty in Harry's honor, and past the now rather battered-looking stone gargoyle that stood guard at the entrance to the Headmaster's study. We received the applause of the former headmasters of the school, letting them show their appreciation.

As they applauded and cheered and cried, I reached one final time for the silver thread I had felt in Harry's head, to see if it still would lead to that place where I had last seen him and Professor Dumbledore. It was still there, but there was nothing else there, not even the squalling remnant of Voldemort's soul

Dumbledore agreed with Harry about the Resurrection Stone, when I asked his advice on it. It would remain lost somewhere in the Forbidden Forest, though I had considered retrieving and using it, to see if it could possibly bring Harry back. But if Harry had chosen to go on, I had no desire to gainsay his wishes.

"And then there's this," I said, holding up the Elder Wand. I could sense the reverence both Ron and Hermione now attached to it; it had been the instrument of Voldemort's death, after all. "I won't need it," I said flatly.

"What?" Ron looked at me, amazed. "Are you mental, Harry?" Hermione's look became concerned — I could feel she sensed the deeper meaning in what I was trying to imply to them.

"It's a powerful wand," I said. "But I liked my old one better." I took Harry's broken wand from the pouch around his neck, placing it on the desk, and touched it with the tip of the Elder Wand, saying softly, "_Reparo_."

The broken ends of the holly wand joined together; sparks shot out of the tip. I picked it up, looking at it contentedly for a moment, before handing it to Ron, who stared at it, then at Harry, in confusion. "What —" he began.

I sat down heavily in one of the chairs next to the desk. Ron still held Harry's phoenix wand, looking at it, then me, in confusion. But Hermione instinctively moved toward me. "Harry, what's wrong?"

I looked at both of them, hating what I had to do. All of the portraits of the headmasters had gone quiet, waiting intently for my next words.

"I'm sorry," I told them. "I'm dying."

There were gasps of outrage and amazement around us — some of the headmasters' exclamations were quite vehement. Others had bowed their heads in sorrow. Ron and Hermione looked at each other in horror. I looked at Dumbledore's portrait — only he had not visibly reacted to the pronouncement of my own doom.

"But — _why_?!" Hermione finally asked; her voice became desperate, as if this happening _now_ was beyond all understanding. In truth, it might be beyond theirs. How could they understand what I had been doing all these centuries, and why. I couldn't quite explain _why_ myself!

I shook my head. "Voldemort's curse cannot be denied."

"But you _beat_ Voldemort, Harry!" Ron exclaimed. It was perhaps the first time I could recall him using the Dark Lord's name. "You _can't_ die now, now that you've won!"

"The Wand, Harry!" Hermione said suddenly, pointing at the Elder Wand, still in my hand. "You're — you're its true master! It can't let harm befall you!"

"That's right!" Ron agreed. "It's unbeatable!"

"And yet," I pointed out quietly, "how many wizards have lost this wand — and their lives — to others, over the centuries?" I shook my head. "This wand is powerful — there is no doubt of that, given that it could repair my broken wand, but it can't be truly unbeatable. And once I die, since Voldemort is dead as well, it will no longer have a true master, and will be just another wand."

Neither of them knew what to say. Neither did I. I hadn't really thought through my decision to animate Harry's body — it had seemed like a good idea when I thought of it, but, being motivated primarily by revenge, it was coming back to cut me like the double-edged sword that it was. Being able to do anything, or know anything, I needed, didn't mean I would always do the _right_ thing.

It was time to go. I held out my hands to them. "Help me up," I said, weakly. They each took an arm and pulled me to my feet. Slowly I put the Elder Wand in my pocket, then held out my hand to Ron. "Can I use my wand one more time?"

"Of — of course," Ron said immediately, handing it over and looking at me expectantly. Perhaps he suspected I had thought of a last-minute reprieve, and was simply too tired or weak to shout. But I had one final thing to do, or perhaps two, before I left this world forever.

I turned back toward the desk, looking at the portrait of Dumbledore hanging on wall behind it. He was looking at me solemnly, seemingly neither happy nor sad at the news that had devastated every other headmaster there. "Goodbye, Professor," I said to him. "Perhaps we will see each other again, soon." _Or already had, a few hours ago now_.

"Goodbye, dear boy," Dumbledore's portrait gently replied. There was a tear now running down his cheek. "We all owe you a debt of great gratitude for your selflessness." Beside me, Hermione sobbed uncontrollably, and Ron's breathing was ragged and shaky.

"May your journey onward be a happy one," Dumbledore finished, and the other portraits around the room nodded, echoing those sentiments. I nodded as well, accepting them in Harry's place. Even though he was dead, there was an odd comfort in knowing that this time, he'd made the choice himself.

I reached forward and took an object from the headmaster's desk: a small, wooden box just bigger than the palm of my hand. I tapped it with my wand, saying, "_Portus_," and the box shook in my hand, glowing blue momentarily. The portrait of Dumbledore shifted, watching me with renewed interest. "I'll have Hermione or Ron return this, shortly," I told him, and he nodded, curtly.

"What are you _doing_, Harry?" Hermione asked me, wiping her eyes. "You tell us you're going to _die_, and now you're going to run off somewhere?"

"I want you to come with me," I told her, and Ron, holding out the box for them. "I want to put the Elder Wand back to rest, with Professor Dumbledore's body."

Hermione and Ron looked at one another; something passed between them, something I would have missed if I weren't aware of their thoughts. They were both determined not to let me die, even if they had to wrestle the Elder Wand away from me and try to cure me with it. From their perspective, and from what I had explained to Voldemort (and everyone watching us) before he'd attempted to kill Harry the final time, it was reasonable for them to try that, even though I couldn't let it happen.

"All — all right," Hermione said. "We'll go with you." She and Ron reached out and touched the box in my hand. It glowed blue, and after the spinning stopped, we found ourselves where I had directed the Portkey, to Dumbledore's white tomb next to the lake, now lying broken, exposing his corpse, wrapped in star-covered purple velvet.

I staggered as we landed, falling against the side of the broken tomb and dropping the wooden box. I had meant to give it to one of them to return to the headmaster's office, but I had overplayed my role as dying Harry Potter. The box hit the ground next to the tomb and broke, spilling its contents. Curiously, the only thing inside it was a small red stone that I took to be a ruby, but a quick check of its molecular structure revealed it was not composed of corundum. It wasn't important, anyway — I was here to return Dumbledore's wand to him, and say my final goodbyes to Ron and Hermione.

Both of the them had grabbed hold of me as I staggered, keeping me from falling over, and I nodded thanks to them, then stood and faced Dumbledore's tomb. Taking the Elder Wand from my robe, I said, "Professor, your tomb was broken to steal your wand. I think it fitting that it should mend it as well, before it rests with you."

Pointing it toward the tomb, I said, loudly, "_Reparo_!" and watched as the broken pieces of white marble reformed into a solid shape once again. "And to make sure this never happens again," I said, "_Adiscessum_!" casting the Unbreakable Charm over the tomb. The power of the Elder Wand would, I hoped, be enough to keep any other wand from breaking the tomb again.

Finally, I pointed the Elder Wand at the lid of the tomb, causing it to float in the air above Dumbledore's body. Reverently, I placed the wand into the still well-preserved hands of the late Hogwarts headmaster, then with Harry's phoenix wand, I lowered the lid once more, sealing the tomb forever. That accomplished, I stepped back, staggering, and fell to the ground. It was time to say goodbye to Ron and Hermione, though I found myself unhappy about having to do so. I had wondered, previously, how long it would be before I no longer wanted to roam the failed Harry Potter universes, extracting vengeance for his death. It felt like that time was here. Now, I wondered, what would I do next?

Hermione and Ron were hovering above my fallen form. Hermione was crying openly, while Ron looked so pained I felt awful just thinking about what agony he was in, watching me "die." Slowly, I reached inside my robes, pulling out Harry's Invisibility Cloak.

"Ron," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I want — I want you to keep this."

Ron shook his head convulsively. "Harry, I — I _can't_…"

"You have to," I insisted. "It's been passed down from Ignotus Peverell's time to me. Now — now… it can belong to you, and…and your children."

Ron's eyes found Hermione's, and at a small nod from her he took the Cloak from me. "Thank you, Harry," he said softly.

I sighed, closing my eyes. "I — I love you both," I said, wanting them to know what I'm sure Harry felt for them. "Goodbye…"

I was preparing to leave Harry's body when I felt Hermione's hand slip into my robe, pulling out the phoenix wand I'd left there. I thought she was going to give it Ron as well, but she leaped to her feet, pointing it at me.

"Harry, you can't die!" she said loudly, and desperately. "You have to hold on! _Salveo Curatia_!" She cast a powerful Healing Spell on me, but of course there was nothing that could keep me from simply leaving Harry's body. I continued to lessen my hold on Harry's body; it would be mere moments before I allowed it to end.

"Ron!" Hermione shouted, pointing toward the broken wooden box that was lying nearby. "Grab that box! We have to get Harry back to! There must be something Madam Pomfrey can do for him!"

Ron grabbed for the box, then snatched up the red rock that had fallen out and was holding it up as well. "What was this doing inside the box?"

Hermione looked at it for a moment, then clutched frantically at it. "_Where did you get this_?!"

"It fell out of the box when Harry dropped it!" Ron yelled, surprised at her vehemence in grabbing it from him. "What the bloody hell is it?"

"Ron," she said, waving it under his nose, her expression now jubilant. "It's the _PHILOSOPHER'S STONE_!"

_What the hell_?? I thought, shocked. _The Philosopher's Stone_?

"NO WAY!" Ron exclaimed in turn. "Harry said Dumbledore destroyed it!"

"Obviously, he lied!" she shouted gleefully. "We can use it to save Harry!"

"How??" Ron yelled. As he and I watched, Hermione conjured a goblet, then raced to the edge of the lake, scooping up some of the water and dropping the Stone into it. She then raced back toward me, dropping to her knees beside me. She and Ron lifted my head and shoulders.

"Drink this!" she ordered, pressing the rim of the goblet against my lips. I was so surprised that I let her pour some of it down my throat. There was an unusual flavor to it now — the water had indeed been transmuted into a different substance! It now had an aromatic taste, like cinnamon and sugar mixed in with the water, and I felt its effects suffusing throughout Harry's body. That "red rock" really _was_ the Philosopher's Stone! I thought, ruefully, that if Dumbledore were still alive, he'd have some explaining to do.

"How do you feel now?" Ron asked, anxiously, as Hermione pulled the goblet away from my lips.

"Better," I said softly, smiling in spite of the fact that the chance discovery of the Philosopher's Stone had completely disrupted my plans to leave this reality. Hermione flung her arms around my neck, hugging me tightly and crying now for joy.

"Oh my God," she breathed in my ear. "I can't believe how close we came to losing you, Harry!" I shook my head, saying nothing. Ron had his arms around both of us, keeping all of us pressed together.

After an interminable time, Ron and Hermione both released me, and we all got slowly to our feet. I smiled at both of them, though they couldn't guess my real reason for doing so. Perhaps I _could_ stay here a while longer, at that. I no longer felt the urge to travel from one alternate Harry Potter universe to the next, destroying Voldemort after Voldemort.

"Thanks, both of you," I said, feelingly. "You don't know what it means to me, having you wanting to keep me alive as strongly as you both did. I won't forget it."

Ron put a hand on my shoulder. "No problem, mate," he said, grinning. "I'll get the next Dark Lord. Deal?"  
I laughed. "Deal," I said, and we shook hands. Hermione put hers on top of ours, then we all linked arms and began to walk back to Hogwarts to rejoin the others. I supposed I wouldn't miss the next ninety to one hundred years out of my life — it seemed a small price to pay, come to think of it, to help this reality with its happily ever after ending.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

_September 1, 2019_

It was a warm, breezy morning the day the last of our children started at Hogwarts, twenty-one years after I took over Harry's life and legacy. The road to King's Cross Station was, as usual, bustling with activity, and the air above it was as soot-laden and blue-tinged with exhaust fumes as in all the years I had been coming here with our sons, James and Albus, and now the youngest, our daughter Lily. I hardly paid it any mind any more.

Lily, however, had noticed it right away. "Eww," she said, crinkling her nose at the smell. "It smells like too many cars have been here."

"It's usually very busy," Ginny commented to her. "Hundreds of cars every day, if not thousands, come and go to the Station."

Lily's eyes widened in surprise. "We hardly even _see_ a car around home, do we, Mum?"

"There's cars all over the place round home," James sniffed, correcting her. "You just never pay attention to 'em."

"I do so see 'em," Lily objected immediately, looking away from the brand-new wand she was holding possessively, and giving her big brother a _You-don't-know-what-I-kno_w look. "They just don't stink as bad at home as they do here!"

"So which House are you gonna be in, Lily?" Albus asked his younger sister, trying to steer the conversation back to Hogwarts. During Albus's first trip to Hogwarts, two years earlier, Lily had bemoaned the fact that it would be two more years — practically forever — before she could go to Hogwarts, and she'd wanted to go _right then_. Now that she was eleven and on her way to Hogwarts herself, she, like her brothers before her, was focused almost obsessively on which House she would be Sorted into.

"_Gryffindor_!" Lily sang out immediately.

"Right!" Albus agreed with her, grinning. "And what if the Sorting Hat wants to put you in Slytherin?"

"I'll tell him 'NO, I want to go in Gryffindor!'" she said, shaking her finger admonishingly, as if addressing the Hat directly.

"Good!" Albus laughed. "Then we'll be all for one, and one for all!"

"We'll be like the three Peverell brothers," James said knowingly, then added, giving Lily a look of disappointment, "Well, except that you're just a _girl_, Lily." Lily looked at him in shock; her face started to scrunch up, as if she were about to cry.

I glanced over at Ginny, my eyes smiling, but not letting the chuckle escape my lips. She rolled her eyes at me, but there was a smile on her lips as well. She turned toward the back seat, facing James.

"James Sirius!" she said admonishingly, a stern expression on her face. "I'll hear no more talk like that from you, young man! Lily is no more 'just a girl' than you are 'just a boy'."

"Only teasin', Mum," James said, a grin spreading across his face. "Lily's our sister, so she's better'n _ten_ regular boys!" This time I _did_ let a chuckle escape my lips, as Ginny shook her head in a mix of annoyance and amusement.

We arrived at the station and spent the next several minutes loading three trolleys with school trunks and cages. Lily, like her two older brothers, had chosen an owl for a pet. I looked around the car park a while, appearing to check for Ron and Hermione's car, but I knew they hadn't arrived yet. They were close, however; I could feel them approaching if I focused my attention on them.

"We don't want to be late, Dad!" Lily said excitedly, pulling ahead of us on the platform as we made our way past curious Muggles, who stared at the hooting owls. "The train leaves right at eleven, you know!"

Albus, who was walking more sedately behind his trolley, looked at his mother, who was walking beside him, and said, "Kids!" in an aggrieved tone. James, walking beside me, snorted under his breath.

"I think you were more excited than Lily was, your first year," I said softly, so only he could hear. "You woke your mother and me up at seven a.m. that morning, so we wouldn't be late."

"Really?" James looked amused. "I thought it was so I could enjoy one of Mum's breakfasts before going off to eat Hogwarts food. It's never seemed as good as you said it was."

I shrugged. "You should have complained to Headmistress McGonagall, then," I said, matter-of-factly. "She would have done something about it."

"You mean, like retire a few years early?" James suggested. I chuckled.

We had arrived at the barrier between platforms nine and ten, and Albus pushed ahead, shouting "Me first!" as he disappeared through the wall.

"Wait for us!" Ginny said, then exhaled gustily, in mild irritation, and motioned for James to follow. "Hurry up, James, and make sure he doesn't get lost!" James gave me a long-suffering look but sped up with his trolley and ran through the barrier, leaving Ginny and me with Lily.

"Alright, sweetheart," Ginny said reassuringly into Lily's ear, hands on her shoulders as they both looked at the barrier. "Remember, don't be afraid and don't slow down, you'll go right on through to the other side. We'll be right behind you." Lily nodded, looking very determined not to fail. Ginny gave her a small push, and our youngest child aimed her trolley straight for the barrier, passing through easily to the other side.

I walked up beside Ginny, and she linked an arm with mine as we slipped through the barrier together, to join our children on Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters. It was misty on this side, as usual, but we could see various families getting their children settled onto the Hogwarts Express. Ahead of us was Percy Weasley, a phlegmatic expression on his face, as usual, and his lovely wife, Audrey; with them was their younger daughter Lucy. Like James, she was in her fifth year — both of them would be taking their O.W.L.s next spring.

Percy came over to shake my hand. "Good to see you again, Harry," he said solemnly, after we'd exchanged greetings. Lucy ran up to say hello as well, and Percy put an arm around her shoulders, then asked, "Have you heard? Lucy made prefect this year!"

"Congratulations!" I said, smiling. "Carrying on your father's legacy, I see."

"I was a bit worried, last year," she admitted, "when Molly made Head Girl. I wasn't sure I was going to be able to keep up!"

Percy and I both laughed. His girls competed fiercely with one another. Secretly, I was glad that James and Albus took their relationship much more in stride.

"Oi, Harry!" I turned to see Ron and Hermione approaching from behind us with their two children, Rose and Hugo. Like Lily, it was Hugo's first year at Hogwarts, and he could barely contain his excitement.

"Park okay?" Ron asked as we shook hands. It was a joke he liked to make whenever we met to see the kids off to Hogwarts; it always reminded him of our first driving experience, in his father's old flying Ford Anglia, during our second year. I didn't have the heart to point out that Ron had been the one driving the Anglia when we crashed into the Whomping Willow as we tried to land.

Hermione gave Ginny and me both a quick hug, greeted Percy and Lucy, then turned to her two children. "Let's get you both settled in straightaway, before all of the compartments are taken."

"D'you see Fred anywhere, Mum?" Hugo wanted to know, anxious to find George and Angelina's son. "We promised to sit with him."

"They're probably up near the front," Ron said, giving me a small nudge in the side. "You know George, he's always got to be first in everything." I smiled at Ron's little joke — George was one of the least competitive men we knew nowadays, even though, back in the day, he and his twin brother Fred had been highly competitive. Of all the children born to the original Weasley siblings, George's oldest son Fred, named after his late brother who'd been killed during the final Battle of Hogwarts, twenty-one years ago, was just the first of his entering the wizarding school. Their daughter Roxane would begin in two more years, making her the youngest of the Weasley children at school.

Hermione, with Rose and Hugo in tow, went off to find Fred and a suitable compartment for them all; Percy and Lucy began moving her belongings into the nearest carriage, leaving Ron, Ginny and me standing together.

"So, Harry," Ron asked, conversationally, "how're things going upstairs? I don't see much of you now that you're running the Auror Department."

"Going okay," I replied. "I think you got the better end of the wand, though," I added, needling him just a bit. "I should've let Kingsley promote you to Head Auror."

"Oh, no thank you!" Ron laughed. "I like what I'm doing!" Ron was working with an international collection of wizarding law enforcement personnel from around the world, including Asia and North and South America, studying patterns of contraband magical objects being smuggled in and out of the British and European wizarding communities.

"And I like what _you're_ doing," Ginny said to me. "No more of this running back and forth across Europe, looking for Dark wizards — much less hunting for secret stashes of dragon dung and such rot."

"Like me coming home every night, d'you?" I smiled. Ginny smiled in return, but before she said anything else Ron touched my sleeve.

"Watch out," he said, _sotto voce_. "Malfoy alert at six o'clock."

I turned to see Draco Malfoy and his wife, Asteria, and son approaching from the barrier. Scorpius was in his third year, along with Albus and Rose. Malfoy's hair, which had been slowly receding in recent years, had edged up a bit further since I'd last seen him; his high hairline and pointed chin made him look quiet distinctive these days. His wife, a few years younger than Draco, was quite beautiful, with long blonde hair and, interestingly, green eyes.

"Potter, Wealsey," Malfoy said, as they stopped beside us. He motioned toward his wife. "I believe you both know Asteria, my wife."

"Yes," both Ron and I said, and I turned to Ginny. "And I believe you both know my wife, Ginny." She and the Malfoys nodded to each other, all very friendly and cordial in front of their son.

"Scorpius," Draco said to him, gesturing toward Ron and me, "these two men are Mr. Harry Potter and Mr. Ron Weasley, from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Mr. Potter is the Head Auror."

"Pleased to meet you both, sirs," the young man said, politely.

"Pleased to meet you, Scorpius," I replied, pleasantly. Ron was giving me an eye, but he smiled at the young Malfoy as well.

"Pleased to meet you, too," he said. "Has your father told you much about us?"

"No," Scorpius said, bluntly. Behind us, Ginny chuckled under her breath.

"Well," Malfoy said, gathering up his wife and son. "See you around, Potter, Weasley. We'd better get Scorpius on the train — not much time before eleven a.m." They moved on.

After watching them leave, Ron turned to me once again. "Well, that was fun," he said sardonically. "Y'know, I can hardly wait 'til we catch him red-handed."

"You've been saying that for a decade now," I reminded him, trying not to grin.

"It will be all the sweeter when it finally happens, mark my words," Ron said defensively.

"Come on," Ginny said, taking my and her brother's arms, to walk us over to where Hermione had collected most of the Potters and Weasley children who were headed to Hogwarts. "Let's go see them off."

"Remember," Hermione was telling them all, "No playing hide-and-seek in the Forbidden Forest — you'll give poor old Hagrid a heart attack. _And_, I do _not_ want to hear about any of you—" she looked sternly at Hugo "— playing pranks on Mr. Filch."

"But, Auntie Hermione," young Fred protested, "Dad's made some particularly potent Dung Bombs, just for Hugo!" The others around him laughed, and George smiled sheepishly.

"Well, I don't want to know about it," Hermione declared, then hugged each of her children in turn. "At least, try not to get caught," she finally said, in mild exasperation.

Ginny and I spent the last few minutes saying goodbye to all the young Weasleys, our nieces and nephews, before the final whistle sounded, announcing the train's imminent departure.

Finally, our own three children were the only ones not on the train. "Take care of your younger brother and sister," I said to James, hugging him goodbye. He nodded, smiling, then endured Ginny fussing over his hair as she hugged him goodbye as well, before jumping onto the train to find his friends.

"See you, Dad, Mum," Albus said, hugging us both, then stepping onto the train and fading from view, though I knew he was waiting just out of sight for Lily to join him.

"Well, the Big Day is finally here," Ginny said to Lily, hugging her tightly. Now that she was about to leave, Lily was having some last-minute anxiety: her lower lip was quivering a bit.

"I'm going to miss you, Mum!" she said tremulously. "And you, too, Dad!" she added, coming over to hug me as well.

I looked up at Ginny, concern written across my face. "Well, we can't have that, can we?" I said as I released her. "Perhaps we can come with?"

Lily cocked her head at me, at once exasperated. "Dad! You can't come stay with me at _Hogwarts_!"

"I can't? Don't you think they'd let me?"

"_Dad_!"

"Well," I suggested, looking a bit crestfallen. "Maybe we can write every week. How would that be?"

"That would be better," Lily agreed seriously. She jumped through the door of the carriage, then turned and waved as the door shut and the train slowly began to move. "Write me!" she waved through the window.

"We will," Ginny said, waving back. The train pulled away, taking them all toward another year of filling their heads with knowledge, as Dumbledore had remarked, once upon a time. Ginny, the other parents and I stood watching the train as it disappeared into the distance. When it was finally gone, we turned and walked back to the barrier that would take us back to Muggle King's Cross Station, chatting amongst ourselves.

Ginny and Hermione were walking a bit ahead of Ron and me as we left the building, heading back to our cars. My eyes ran appreciatively over her form. She had changed very little in the last two decades; her years of professional Quidditch playing had kept her trim, with well-rounded hips and a firm, ample bosom. I was smiling as I watched the twitch in her rump when Ron nudged me in the arm to catch my attention.

"D'you and Ginny want to celebrate being 'child-free' with us at the Leaky Cauldron tonight, Harry?" he asked. "I'll buy the butterbeers."

I looked at Ginny, but she had already guessed my answer; she was looking back at us with a mischievous grin on her face. "I think we'll take a rain check on that, Ron," I said, clapping a friendly hand on his shoulder. "I believe I have to be into the office early tomorrow, though."

Hermione giggled. Ron looked at her, an eyebrow raised in momentary confusion before he put everything together. "Fine, then," he said, rolling his eyes as he and Hermione stopped next to their car; they'd parked only a few slots from ours. "Tomorrow night it is. Or are you going to start making a habit of 'working early,' Mr. Head Auror?"

"I'll let you know tomorrow," I said blandly. "See you, Ron."

"Take care, both of you."

Several hours later, Ginny and I finally rolled apart, both of us breathing heavily. We had just finished making love for the second time that night, and she was glistening with satiation and pleasure. Neither of us spoke for some time; eventually, she rolled onto her side and snuggled up against me.

"I never get tired of you doing that, sweetheart," she whispered in my ear. "I love you."

"I love you, too," I murmured back. "I'm glad you liked it."

"Oh, yeah," she sighed. "I like it."

Within a minute or so she began to breathe slowly and steadily — she'd gone to sleep. I smiled; it was a satisfying ending to a day we'd been looking forward to for some years now — all of our children were now going to Hogwarts, so they'd be out from underfoot until the Christmas holidays.

At least, I _believed_ we'd been looking forward to this day. Thinking about it now, I was beginning to feel a bit of "empty nest" syndrome. Lily's anticipation for starting school had been building ever since her two brothers had come home for the holidays last December, and we'd brought in the new year hard on the heels of celebrating her eleventh birthday, on December 31. By Easter, she was nagging us to go to Diagon Alley and buy her books for September first. We'd finally made a trip out of it in June, after the boys had come home, and she spent the summer devouring the first three grades of the Standard Book of Spells, plus books on Charms and Transfigurations. We had drawn the line at buying her a wand until just a few weeks before the fall term started, but Ginny and I were pretty sure she'd taken to "borrowing" her brothers' wands, to practice. I was pretty sure she would be a match for any third-year she met on her first day there. I just hoped the teachers at Hogwarts were prepared for her! Now, Ginny and I would have time together.

Which brought me back to the reason why I was lying here aware. I wasn't sure how I felt about that. For the past decade, I'd been absorbed in helping Ginny raise James and Albus, in caring for and educating Lily, and in working with Kingsley Shacklebolt, Ron and the other Aurors at the Ministry in reshaping the Wizarding World in Britain and throughout Europe into a more peaceful and contented culture, capable of coexisting with without exposing itself to, or being overwhelmed by, Muggle society.

That had not always been easy. There were always undesirable elements in both the Muggle and Wizarding worlds, elements that thrived on discord, greed and unrest. Harry, during the first seventeen years of his life, had spent much time in both the Wizarding and Muggle worlds, dealing with unpleasant sorts everywhere he turned. Once Voldemort was gone, he had been uniquely suited for the job of bringing calm, capable leadership to the Auror Department in the Ministry, a group that had seen much upheaval among its ranks in the years immediately preceding the Second War. I had called upon many of Harry's earliest memories over the past two decades, and had counted on many of the friendships he'd forged during his years growing up at Hogwarts, to get us to this point in time.

Draco Malfoy, for example, had been a particular thorn in our sides. It turned out that, even though he was less capable of pure malice than his father Lucius had been (as far as Ron and I knew, he'd never killed anyone), he was still a very cunning, slippery and ruthless fellow. We had thwarted quite of few of his underworld activities, but Malfoy still maintained a very elegant and polished lifestyle, one I was certain could not be maintained on his parents' supply of gold alone. It was only a few years after Voldemort's death, we later learned, that Draco had taken over his father's business interests and begun building his own little empire, in Knockturn Alley as well as other dodgy magical locations in cities throughout Europe.

Draco had married Asteria Greengrass back in 2005, and their son Scorpius was born the following year. I think that mellowed Malfoy a bit, just as having James and then Albus had mellowed me. Until then, Ron and I had engaged Malfoy in a rather tense "turf war," each side trying to outmaneuver the other into missteps or bad publicity in the _Daily Prophet_. Draco had the advantage of being able to operate outside Ministry guidelines, and even though I might have asserted my Power and shut him down in a heartbeat, as long as he wasn't killing or Cruciating people, I was content to go after him as Harry would have done.

My _Power_. I smiled to myself; I hadn't thought much about that aspect of my existence in the last two decades. Early on, I had made a challenge of it with myself, promising to use it only in during extreme emergencies. Of course, there was very little that the inherent magical ability possessed by Harry himself was incapable of, once one had the knowledge to properly utilize it, which was, after all, what Albus Dumbledore himself was famous for: his colossal understanding of magic, both at its most basic level and in all the intricate variations of spells the wizarding mind was capable of.

Now, I wondered, what had become of the place I had last seen Harry in, twenty-one years ago? There was still a tendril of silver thought leading to it from the innermost recesses of my brain. I focused my attention on it, once again seeing nothing but the great, empty hall I had seen before, this time devoid of any other feature; not even the bench, where I'd seen Harry and Dumbledore sitting before, was there now.

I decided to explore that place a bit more carefully, but I needed to leave a very small part of myself attached to Harry's brain — a "lifeline," one might call it — to anchor myself in this reality. The place where I was looking toward was not really a part of this universe, after all, it seemed.

Affixing a silver thread of my thoughts to Harry's autonomic functions, I moved off toward "King's Cross," following the thread Harry had left behind twenty-one years ago. It occurred to me that the situations were similar — the thread that Harry had left behind had made my transition to that place possible. I don't think I could have known how to get there without his "last thoughts" to show me the way.

I arrived there naked. It wasn't unexpected; Harry had been naked when he first got here, and I had been naked anyway, in bed with Ginny. That was easily remedied — I simply thought of myself clothed and it was so — I found myself dressed in shirt, pants and loafers. Looking around again, I found myself inside the vast, glass-domed building that Harry had seen when he was here before; it seemed to be completely empty, no matter where I looked. I could find no exits anywhere, and I wondered how Harry and Dumbledore had left. Perhaps the same way I had arrived, I decided — but in my case, no one had come to collect me, as Dumbledore had come to collect Harry, to help him decide to go "on," if that was what he wanted. In the original story, of course, he hadn't, while in the reality I had just come from, Harry had elected to travel onward with Dumbledore, who perhaps had seen me and guessed that I would carry on in Harry's place. That was something I hadn't even known about myself at the time.

It was vaguely unsatisfying, I felt. I had no idea where or how Harry had gone on, but I had settled into his body and his life, for the sake of his friends and everyone who loved him, back in the reality I'd come from — Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and for their then-unborn children, James Sirius, Albus Severus, and Lily Luna. I wondered what he would think of my choice to do so. It would be interesting to ask him, if only I could figure out a way to reach him —

_Well_, I reminded myself, _there is a way, possibly_. It had been left, dropped on the ground in the Forbidden Forest, when Harry had let Voldemort hit him with the _Avada Kedavra_, the Killing Curse, all those years ago: the Resurrection Stone.

There was a faint sound, somewhere behind me, and I turned, looking to see who or what had made it. The Hall was still as empty as it had been when I first found it. I listened carefully, and finally heard it again, a bare whisper: "Harry?"

I realized at once who I was hearing. I focused on the silver thread leading me back to myself, in the real world, and opened my eyes.

Ginny was staring at me, her face tense and worried. One of her hands was pressed against my cheek, turning my face toward her. "Harry! What happened? Why didn't you answer me?" she asked, urgently. "Were you dreaming?"

I shook my head. I didn't want to say, but I had to tell her something. "I — I don't know," I whispered. "I heard a voice calling me; I suddenly realized it was you. But I wasn't dreaming." Which was true enough.

She put her hand on my bare chest. "I couldn't feel your heart beating a minute ago. It didn't seem like you were breathing," she said worriedly. "But you seem alright now."

"I'm okay," I nodded, smiling, hoping to allay her fears. "It was probably nothing."

But Ginny fixed me with a stern eye. "Harry James Potter," she said in _that_ voice, so much like her mother's, when she intended to get her way. "You're _not_ going to tell me you're okay, after your heart practically stopped beating for nearly half a minute!"

"But —"

"Ah-ah! None of that! Tomorrow I want you to get and get yourself checked out," she said flatly, in a tone that would brook no argument.

"I don't want to be seen at St. Mungo's," I said, trying to find a way out of this and still make her happy. "I'll have Ron or one of the other Aurors fetch a Healer round to my office tomorrow."

"I have a better idea," she said, seeing right through me. "I want you to go see Poppy."

Poppy Pomfrey, the nurse at Hogwarts, had been at the school since before James and Lily, Harry's parents, had attended it. She had probably seen more of Harry's body, all things considered, than even Ginny. (All right, probably not _everything_, I admit!) It was true that she had nursed Harry and many of his friends during their time there, and Ginny and I had maintained our friendship with her after I went on to work at the Ministry, and Ginny began flying with the Holyhead Harpies. She became a favored "aunt" to our children, and enjoyed babysitting them on the occasions when Ginny and I went out with Ron and Hermione and Molly and Arthur couldn't take them. She had always been a loyal and caring friend of the family.

Of course, there were times when knowing a nurse worked against me, like now. I would have to go see Poppy; otherwise, Ginny would owl her or have a "fireside chat" (my little joke phrase for Floo-talking) and then the Kneazle would be out of the bag. Well, it would be easy enough to convince Poppy that I was fine — after all, while I was inside Harry's body, he couldn't die.

I made a short obligatory appearance at the Ministry offices, to see Kingsley and let him know I'd be back shortly. "Nothing wrong, is there, Harry?" the Minister asked in his rich, deep voice, looking at me carefully.

"Just thinking I'd surprise the kids," I said airily, not wanting him to worry over nothing. "See how things are going out at Hogwarts lately."

Kingsley nodded. "Give my regards to the Headmaster," he said. "Tell him to take care of himself," he added, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "He's been looking a bit pale lately."

I grinned. "I'm sure he'll appreciate your concern, sir." I started to close the door to his office, but Kingsley looked up again, catching my attention.

"Are you taking Ron with you, Harry?" he asked.

"Er — no," I said, mentally castigating myself for the oversight. Of _course_ Ron would want to go if he knew I was heading to Hogwarts! "I think he's pretty busy on his smuggling operation," I said, offering a not very convincing reason not to ask him along.

Kingsley stared at me for several second. "I see," he said quietly. "Well, whatever you think best, Harry." He went back to his work, and I got out of there, wishing I could do the last 30 seconds over again. But, what's done is done; I shrugged and put it out of my mind.

Leaving the Ministry, I Apparated to the entrance of Hogwarts, then stood there a while admiring the statues of winged boars sitting atop the pillars on either side of the heavy iron gates. Harry had both good and bad memories about them: the first time he passed through them — which, ironically, didn't occur until the start of his third year, riding the carriages from Hogsmeade Station; that memory was diminished somewhat by the fact that dementors were standing guard at the gates as he passed through them. He also remembered chasing Snape toward these gates, though it was Buckbeak, the hippogriff that Harry inherited from his godfather, Sirius Black, and who was in Hagrid's care at the time, who'd actually chased Snape through them, after Snape had killed Professor Dumbledore (an event that had turned out to have different circumstances than Harry originally understood).

"Harry, it's good to see yeh!" a familiar voice came through the morning air, and I smiled as Hagrid, the half-giant Keeper of the Keys and the Grounds at Hogwarts, and the school's primary Care of Magical Creatures professor, waved cheerfully at me as he walked toward the gates. His hair and beard was still beetle-black, though there were a few salt-and-pepper sprinklings around his temples. "Yeh could've knocked me over with a feather when I realized who was here." He unlocked the gates and swung them open; they were barely out of his way before he was through them, my hand disappearing into his massive fist as he happily pumped my arm up and down, nearly dislocating it.

"So what's up?" he asked, leading me into the grounds. He looked suddenly concerned. "I hope nothing's wrong," he said, "that the Ministry's Head Auror has got t' come visit Hogwarts for some reason."

"Nothing like that, Hagrid," I explained. "I'm just taking the opportunity to visit the kids, now that they're all here, and say hello to Neville, Poppy and the Headmaster."

"Oh, I see," Hagrid said, giving me a hurt look. "Nothin' you can tell old Hagrid about, is it?"

"Hagrid!" I said, taken aback. "Really, it's nothing like that —"

Hagrid chuckled. "Got yeh, dint I? You thought I was really upset, dincha?"

I folded my arms and managed to look affronted. "Well, yeah, I did!"

He gave me a wink. "Well, that's you outsmarted, then, innit?"

I gave up, laughing. "Yeah, that's me outsmarted! Well done, Hagrid!"

Laughing, we walked up to the front doors of the castle, where Hagrid left me, to prepare for his next class. In the Entrance Hall, I hesitated for a moment, considering my options. Normally, I would go to the Deputy Headmaster's office, to announce my presence and request a meeting with the Headmaster, but that would take some time, and I wanted to get my meeting with Poppy over with and then do what I'd actually come here to do, out in the Forbidden Forest. If I had time afterwards, I'd pay a visit to Professor Binns, now Headmaster of the school after Headmistress McGonagall's retirement a few years ago. Whoever had thought of getting Binns out of teaching History of Magic and making him Headmaster of the school had been a genius, I'd decided. The person teaching it now _had_ to be a more interesting teacher than Binns!

I walked up to the infirmary, on the third floor, and into Poppy's office, where she was busily engaged in writing down something at her desk; when I cleared my throat, she jumped and uttered a short cry of alarm. "Merlin's beard, you gave me a start!" she exclaimed as she looked up at me, setting down her quill. "What are you doing here, Harry?"

"I had a bit of trouble sleeping last night," I said, keeping my tone casual. "Ginny wanted you to check me out and see if everything's okay."

"Does she?" Poppy gave me an inquiring look, then motioned to a nearby chair. "Alright — let's have a look, then. Tell me what happened."

I described the problem from Ginny's perspective: no discernible heartbeat or respiration for about half a minute; unresponsive during that time, then back to complete normalcy a few seconds later. Nodding as I spoke, Poppy passed her wand over me several times, muttering diagnostic spells.

Finding nothing (as I knew she wouldn't) she began subtly fishing for some information that would help her figure out what might be wrong with me. "How've things been down at the Ministry lately, Harry? Are you keeping busy?"

"Not too bad," I shrugged, playing along. "But there are always things to get to, always more work needing to get done."

"All the kids are here now, aren't they?" She spoke as if she'd just thought about that, but she'd mentioned it to Ginny several times over the past nine months, ever since before Christmas. I nodded, confirming the answer for her.

"How are you feeling about that?" she asked, listening carefully to my answer.

"I've been looking forward to it," I said. "_Not_ because I'm tired of the kids, though! Lily's been looking forward to coming here for years, you know."

"Mmm." She stepped back. "Well, everything seems fine, Harry." I nodded — I hadn't expected a different answer.

I got to my feet. "Thank you, Poppy," I said, placing a grateful hand on her shoulder. "Will you let Ginny know? I'm sure she'll be interested to hear it from you." _And the best defense is a good offense_.

"I'll write her a quick note right now," Poppy said, returning to her desk. But before I could leave, she asked, "Will you be staying for lunch, Harry? I'm sure that James, Albus and Lily will be thrilled to see you here."

I hesitated. "Perhaps," I said, really considering it. "I'll try, Poppy. If I can't, Ginny and I will try to drop in some weekend for lunch."

Poppy beamed. "I look forward to seeing you both!"

I smiled and took my leave of her. Once outside her office, though, I brought out the Invisibility Cloak from under my robes and threw it over myself, then quickly made my way through the castle and out the east exit, near the greenhouses, walking across the grounds to the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Harry's memories of that time were still in his brain, of course, though clouded with much negative emotion. He had come here, to the Forbidden Forest, to find Voldemort just after viewing the memories of Severus Snape, who had just minutes before been murdered by the Dark Lord, believing that by killing Snape, he would become the true master of the Elder Wand.

I paused just inside the Forest to take off the Invisibility Cloak and store it inside my robes. I was now out of sight of anyone who might see me and wonder what Harry Potter, Head Auror for the Ministry of Magic, was doing wandering around yet _again_ in the Forbidden Forest.

My destination was a certain clearing in the forest where Aragog, once Hagrid's pet acromantula, had made his lair. Aragog had died during Harry's sixth year, of old age, and Harry had used the opportunity of attending a wake, along with Hagrid and Horace Slughorn, to persuade, with some help from a dose of _Felix Felicis_ Potion, Professor Slughorn to give him a critical memory of Voldemort asking about Horcruxes.

I made my way quickly to the area, pausing there for several moments as I reviewed Harry's memories of his encounter with Voldemort. He had found the Resurrection Stone hidden in a Golden Snitch bequeathed to him by Dumbledore; the first one he'd ever captured, by catching it in his mouth. He had recalled his mother Lily, his father James, his godfather, Sirius Black and his teacher, Remus Lupin, from death, and together they had followed two Death Eaters to this clearing, where he revealed himself to Voldemort, believing that the Dark Lord had to kill him so that the fragment of his soul in Harry's scar would be destroyed and Voldemort himself could be killed.

I stood in the spot where Harry had stood, those long decades ago, silently casting revelation spells on nearby patches of ground. At last one of my spells touched something, causing it to glow with a golden light, and I reached down into the dirt, pulling up a small, black, round stone. It had probably been trampled into the ground by Voldemort and the Death Eaters as they forced Hagrid to carry Harry's body back to the castle, to show off their victory.

I held the Resurrection Stone in my hand, contemplating the crack that ran down its middle, splitting the symbol of the Deathly Hallows in two. Just how this would recall Harry from wherever he had gone, I did not know, but he had done it for his parents, his godfather and his teacher and friend. I wondered if my recalling Harry would be the wisest course. I wasn't sure if it would be, but I at least wanted an opportunity to talk with him before continuing in this life that should have been his —

"Harry, what the bloody hell?" I looked up, surprised. I had been concentrating so much on the Stone that I'd lost track of what was going on around me. Standing behind me on the path out of the Forest was Ron. He was staring at me with a mixture of surprise and annoyance, probably for leaving him back at the Ministry. Then his eyes widened as he saw what was in my hand. "You've found the Resurrection Stone!" he blurted out.

I nodded, saying nothing. How was I going to explain to him that I was going to resurrect — _myself_?


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: The third and final chapter was completed ahead of schedule. The creative juices really flowed on this one. I hope you enjoy the ending, it seems to flow very naturally. There was going to be a bit more about James Harrison Monroe afterwards, but I think it would have felt anticlimactic. -- John**

"No wonder you didn't think about asking me along to visit Hogwarts," Ron said accusingly, as he walked slowly toward me up the path leading to the clearing where Voldemort had first 'killed' Harry. "You didn't really come here to visit your kids, did you?"

He looked at the Resurrection Stone, resting in the palm of my hand. "You told Dumbledore's picture this Stone was better off lost, all those years ago. Yet now I find you here with the bloody thing in your hand, looking like you're about to use it! So just what the bloody hell _are_ you up to, Harry?"

Ron felt betrayed, I knew, and not just because I hadn't invited him along to Hogwarts. Of the three Deathly Hallows, he knew this was the one Hallow I would have chosen to keep, just as he would have kept the Elder Wand, and Hermione, the Invisibility Cloak.

But I had overridden those options, years ago, when I returned the Elder Wand to its final resting place with Professor Dumbledore, and kept the Invisibility Cloak, because it had been handed down from father to son, from Ignotus Peverell's time, to the present and to Harry from his own father, James Potter.

"It's not what it looks like, Ron," I said flatly.

"Well, I'm glad to hear _that_," Ron snapped, "'cause it _looks_ pretty bad, from where I'm standing." When I continued to stare at him wordlessly, he gestured impatiently. "Well, what _are_ you up to, then? Spill it!"

I took a slow, deep breath. "I need to bring someone back —"

"No bloody kidding," Ron said, exasperated. "I kinda got the first clue about that when I walked up and saw you with the Resurrection Stone in your hand, mate! Who are you planning on bringing back? Dumbledore? Snape? _Fred_?"

It was obvious, now, that Ron had been angrier than I thought about some things in our past. While it was possible for me to know the thoughts of people around me, after the first few days of living in Harry's place, here in the Wizarding world, I had stopped doing so. It seemed intrusive — people's thoughts should remain their own. Instead, I used Leglimency, which was more in keeping with my situation as an Auror — wizards _expected_ Aurors to have tricks like Leglimency and such up their sleeves, and there was Occlumency to combat it (though I was very proficient at reading other wizards' thoughts magically).

I knew Ron thought as highly of Professor Dumbledore as I did; but he'd never understood, the way I did, just what Severus Snape went through, for most of his life, to do what he did for Dumbledore, for Harry, and for the students and other teachers of Hogwarts, as much as he was capable of. His own childhood had been profoundly unhappy, as bad as Harry's had been; perhaps worse, since he witnessed countless fights between his parents, and their separation and divorce. At school, Snape had been isolated and ridiculed, and he hadn't responded well, especially when popular boys such as James Potter and Sirius Black hazed him unmercifully. Snape had taken out his frustrations on weaker students, or else bided his time and struck when he had the upper hand — he'd made a particular target of Remus Lupin who, like Snape himself, tended toward being a loner, as well as Peter Pettigrew. Ironically, it was Snape's bullying of Lupin and Pettigrew, as well as Lupin's "furry problem," which formed the impetus to create The Marauders.

"No, none of them," I said, answering his question. "Ron, this is very hard to explain —"

"Oh, it _is_?" Ron looked incredulous. "I guess we've only been best mates for thirty _years_ now, haven't we? And you've been married to my only sister for — what — about twenty years now?"

"Seventeen," I said, calmly.

"Seventeen," he repeated derisively. "Yeah, I can see how that would all make this pretty bleedin' hard to explain, Harry!"

I was becoming a bit annoyed at Ron's sarcasm. "Do you really want to know, then? D'you want to see who I need to talk to, so badly that I had to come out here and dig the Resurrection Stone up from where it's lain for the past twenty years? Fine, then!" I pulled out my wand.

Ron reacted instinctively. "_Protego_!" he shouted, and his Shield Charm formed between us. "Drop your wand, Harry!" he shouted. "We need to talk before you start throwing spells around!"

"No," I said, now thoroughly irritated with Ron's impulsive behavior, though he actually was following correct procedure when a suspect drew a wand on an Auror. "_Finite Incatatem_," I intoned, canceling Ron's Shield Charm and a few other protection spells he'd placed on himself before confronting me. The Shield popped like a bubble, startling Ron, and the concussion of its disappearance caused him to fall onto his prat.

He was still defending himself, however; his wand was poised and ready, even from the ground, and he looked at me warily. I slid my wand back into my robe, my anger now dissipated, and walked over, offering him a hand up. He reached up with his free hand and I hauled him easily to his feet.

"How'd you do that?" he asked, amazement and confusion having replaced his own anger. "Wizards can't cancel each others spells like that! Not unless we allow it, that is…"

"Sorry about that, mate," I muttered. "I shouldn't have gotten upset at you. Maybe you _should_ see who I need to talk to. After all, it concerns you, too. Come on." Turning, I led Ron back to the center of the clearing, standing in front of the spot where the giant acromantula, Aragog, had spun his huge web. Ron had evidently recognized the place as well, as he was looking around nervously.

"You didn't see any spiders about when you first got here, did you, Harry?" he asked, a bit tremulously, and I smiled as some old memories of Ron's fear of spiders came unbidden to mind.

"Spiders are about to be the least of your worries, Ron," I said matter-of-factly. Dropping the Resurrection Stone into a handy pocket, I took out my wand again, more slowly this time so Ron would see what I was doing, then moved it in a complex pattern over our heads as I muttered ancient arcane phrases. Ron was watching me curiously, but as the spell took effect he began blinking and looking around uncertainly, not understanding what was happening to him.

I completed the spell. "Close your eyes," I told him, putting my wand away. He did, and I asked, "Now, what do you see."

"Uh…" he looked around, his eyes still closed. "I — I can still see the clearing, and — and — I see, er, _myself_…" he frowned, confused. "But where are _you_, Harry? Where'd you go?"

"Still here," I said, trying to comfort him. I took the Resurrection Stone from my pocket and held it out in front of me. "Do you see the Stone?"

"Yeah," he said, "but—but it's like _I'm_ holding it, not you!" He opened and closed his hands, trying to drop the Stone. "Weird!"

"It's going to get weirder," I said, and turned to look at him.

"Whoa!" he stepped back involuntarily. "I can see _myself_ now! What'd you _do_ to me, Harry!?"

"You can call this a — well, a 'Mind Meld' spell, I suppose," I said, with a mental shrug. "This is sort of how I saw the things Voldemort did, back when my mind was connected to his through the fragment of his soul in my scar."

"Wow," Ron said, awed. "Neat spell, Harry! But — why are you showing it to me _now_?"

"So you can see what I see," I told him, taking the Resurrection Stone and, closing my eyes, as I (or rather, Harry) had done before, turned it over in my palm, three times.

There was a rustling of leaves in front of me, as if a wind had passed through the clearing, though the air was calm. I felt a presence in front of me, separate from Ron's shared thoughts, and I opened my eyes.

He was there, standing before us, looking the same as he had that day over twenty-one years ago — young and strong, his black hair even more unruly than I'd remembered. It had taken me years to learn how to keep it looking mostly under control. There was a look of sadness and concern on his face, mixed with a bit of annoyance: he did not want to be here, but he had come when called. He was more real than a ghost, more substantial-looking, but he was not truly a part of this world any more, and his form looked faded and slightly indistinct, as if he was out of focus with the rest of reality.

"Why have you brought me back?" he asked, plaintively.

"Oh my god," Ron breathed, and he actually crossed himself, though I doubted he even understood the significance of the ritual. I, who had grown up Catholic, had done it many times, but I refrained from chuckling — it was obvious Ron was completely lost and out of his element right now. "H-Harry, is that _you_? How — how can the Stone have brought you back, when you're not even _dead_?"

Harry looked at Ron, finally smiling. "It's good to see you again, mate," he said, beaming at Ron, but the smile faded after only a few moments. "But… I have to say, seeing you now, I may have made a mistake in going on."

"'Going on?'" Ron repeated, still not letting himself see the obvious. "What d'you mean? You've been here with us… haven't you?"

Harry shook his head slowly. "It was here, in this clearing, that I last walked the earth. Voldemort struck me down, and I found myself — elsewhere, in a place full of whiteness, with anything I needed only a thought away. I thought of it like a — a station, I suppose. A starting point, a place to begin my journey.

"Dumbledore was there too," he added, trying to build an image for Ron. "And we talked about what had happened, and why I was there, and what happens next."

"What _did_ happen next?" Ron asked, his voice barely a whisper, even inside my head. "Why did you leave us, and — _how_ did your body survive all these years without you?"

Harry didn't answer right away, so I spoke up. "Harry's body survived because I took it over in his absence, Ron. I'm really James Harrison Monroe, a person from a different reality entirely, inhabiting and animating Harry's body."

Harry didn't react, but Ron's entire body seemed to flinch. "_What_? You're not — you're not even _Harry_? I thought maybe —" he shook his head in anger and confusion "— maybe you'd be a fragment of Harry's soul, or something, that had somehow been left behind after Harry — after Harry… left…"

Harry's own comment was more sedate. "I didn't know about you," he said to me, "when I went on with Dumbledore. He told me about you just before I returned here. Why _did_ you take my place, James? What could you possibly have to gain by doing so?"

"Originally," I replied, "I was simply going to dispose of Voldemort and then move on to the next failed Harry Potter universe." At Harry and Ron's quizzical looks I explained, "There are many realities where the outcome of your battle with Voldemort does not turn in your favor, Harry. I've been going to those realities and making sure that Voldemort does not carry the day."

Harry looked perplexed. "Why?" he asked. "Wouldn't that just mean that, in some other universe, some other person is making sure _Harry Potter_ does not carry the day? Doesn't it all even out, in the end?"

I thought about that for several seconds. "Probably," I finally agreed. "I hadn't considered it that way until you mentioned it."

"Who cares?" Ron snapped, still incensed. He pointed accusingly at me. "The point is, eh — er, whoever you are — it's time for you to move along an' let Harry have his body back!"

"Ron," Harry said, shaking his head. "What if I don't _want_ to come back?"

Ron looked at him, aghast. "You _just said_ a minute ago you'd made a mistake leaving so soon!"

"I did," Harry agreed, "but that doesn't change the way things are now, Ron! I'm with Mum and Dad now, and Sirius is there too, and Remus and Dora, and Professor Dumbledore as well."

"But, Harry! What about Ginny? What about me and Hermione? And your kids, Harry, _your kids_! How will they live without you there, to bring them up right?"

Ron looked more and more stricken by the moment. And so was I — in a matter of minutes, I'd managed to turn his world upside down, just because his wanting to know the truth had begun to annoy me.

Harry nodded toward me. "James has done a good job of being me so far — he can keep the job, as far as I'm concerned."

"NO HE CAN'T!" Ron howled. "HE'S A BLOODY IMPOSTOR, HARRY! HE'S NOT _YOU_!!"

"But you didn't even _know_ that until five minutes ago," Harry pointed out.

"Well I damn sure know it now!" Ron blazed back. "Right, we'll settle this once and for all —" He clasped his hands together, and suddenly disappeared.

Both Harry and I looked around, startled. Where had Ron gone? "Did you send him somewhere?" Harry asked me.

"No," I said, wondering what kind of magical trickery Ron had pulled off. Being married to the smartest witch at the Ministry, his wife Hermione, gave Ron something of an edge over many of the Aurors there. Fortunately, as one of her best friends, Harry was usually privy to her newest ideas and innovations. But that might not always be the case — she might hold out a few things, just for him.

"Maybe it's just as well he's gone," Harry said, looking back at me with a somber expression. "I believe you called me back to ask me something."

"I did," I said. "I wanted to know if you wanted your old life back."

"I thought it would be something like that," Harry nodded. "But it cannot be. I cannot return to the world of the living — the Resurrection Stone only makes me visible to the person holding it, but I cannot approach any closer."  
I reached out to him, but while Harry appeared almost real, almost substantial, I could not touch him. Even using my Power, I was unable to bridge the gap between my world, and his. Whatever gulf separated us, I did not understand it, and thus had no power over it.

"I'm sorry, Harry," I said, with real remorse. "I thought I could at least offer you the opportunity to return, but I lack even the ability to do that."

"No problem," Harry said, his voice finally sounding at ease. "I know what you were trying to do, taking over my body and stopping Voldemort." He looked down. "I wish now I'd stayed and done it myself."

"I wish you had, too," I replied. Harry looked up at me, surprised. "I would have been happy not to be here in your place."

"I understand." He looked me in the eye, a wistful expression on his face. "It's just too bad, I suppose," he said, his voice slow and careful, "that there's no way we can —"

There was a sudden flash of light, right next to us, and three spinning bodies suddenly appeared in the clearing. I stepped back to get a better view of who was Portkeying in. I already had a pretty good idea: two of the people arriving were redheads, and a shiver went down my spine, contemplating who the second one might be.

The spinning finally stopped, and Ron, Hermione and Ginny turned to face me. Ginny lurched forward, toward me. "Harry, what the hell?" she blurted out. "Ron is saying you're not _you_, that you're really dead, and I —" she spread her arms entreatingly. "I need you to tell me, _what's going on_?"

"Ginny…" I said, my eyes straying to Ron and Hermione. Ron's face was lined with anger; Hermione's eyes were wide and fearful, hoping mightily that Ron was wrong, somehow. Beside me, I heard Harry mutter, more to himself than to me, "Oh, Ron, going off half-cocked again, are you?"

But he wasn't, was he? Even though Hermione and Ginny couldn't see Harry, he was here with us, standing beside the body that should be his, but which was occupied by someone else: me.

"Ginny," I repeated. "Hermione…"

"Tell the truth!" snapped Ron. Hermione put a hand on his arm, and he glared at her, but subsided, looking at me scathingly.

"He's right," I said. Ginny screamed, a long, terrifying howl of rage and despair. Hermione covered her face, turning away. Ron, perhaps surprised I hadn't tried to excuse or explain away what I'd done, looked at me in an appraising manner.

"How could you?" Ginny said, her eyes blazing with fury. "_How could you_?!" She walked up and slugged me hard in the jaw. The blow was well-aimed — I felt the bone crack and a tooth break. I tasted blood in my mouth.

"What were you thinking of, playing at being Harry Potter for the past twenty years?" Ginny shouted at me, shaking her fist in my face. "Did you think we wouldn't _care _— that Harry's _body_ was all that was important to us?"

I spit out the broken tooth, the rubbed my jaw. Within a moment, the jawbone was healed and the tooth repaired. "Harry was — and _is_ — important to me. He's the reason why I'm here — to help him, and everyone he holds dear in the world, to preserve their way of life from Darkness and despair."

"Then _why_ take over his body?" Hermione cried.

"I didn't take it over, Hermione," I said, shaking my head. "After Voldemort struck him down, Harry went on, and I wanted the means of Voldemort's defeat to be as close to Harry's actual victory as possible. After that, I was going to leave Harry's body in peace, but you and Ron did not want me to die."

"But we wouldn't have wanted you to live a lie for, either!" Ron said quickly. "If we had known you weren't really Harry…"

"Then what?" I said, half amused, half angered, by his remark. "Would you have been more willing to allow me to die?" I glanced at Harry; he was frowning at Ron's reply as well.

"No!" Ron shouted. "Don't twist my words, damn you!"

"Stop!" Ginny held up her hands, halting all further argument. "Ron says you have the Resurrection Stone," she said to me, her voice hard and flat. "Hand it over. I want to talk to Harry."

I glanced at Harry. If it was possible, he had gone even paler at her words. "Don't give it to her, James," he whispered. "I can't — I can't…"

Whatever it was Harry couldn't do, I was taking his side. "Not going to happen, Ginny," I told her. "I'm not giving it to you."

Ginny's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Then I'll just have to take it." We both stared at each other, unmoving, for several long seconds. From the corner of my eye, I saw Ron and Hermione look at each other, wide eyed then slowly begin backing up.

I wondered if she was bluffing, but her hand began to curl in that characteristic way, just before she went for her wand. We drew at the same time — I was holding the Stone in my right hand so I had to draw left-handed, reaching across to my right pocket, and Ginny was shouting out her spell as my wand cleared my pocket: "_Expelliarmus_!"

"_Protego_!" I shouted, and the Shield Charm formed just quickly enough to deflect her Disarming Charm from blasting the Stone out of my hand. We began dueling, with me mostly on the defensive.

Ginny was no slouch at dueling. She'd learned well in Dumbledore's Army, and had held her own, even underage, when she fought Bellatrix Lestrange (along with Hermione and Luna) during the final Battle of Hogwarts. She'd had a career as a professional Quidditch player, which had kept her on her toes against opposing players and even fans, and husband and brother were the two top Aurors in the Ministry. Now, she was coming after me hard, dueling to win.

It was going to be a tricky situation. I was hoping for a stalemate — keeping Ginny from winning long enough for her to get tired and start talking again instead of fighting. But she seemed determined to beat me and claim the Resurrection Stone. It was still in my right hand, and in the corner of my eye I could see Harry watching our duel, his face tense. If I lost, he would probably have to talk explain himself to Ginny directly. Which might not be a bad thing for him to do, I considered, but he'd asked me not to give her the Stone.

Fires were beginning to start in various places around the clearing as our spells ricocheted around, blasting the ground, trees and leaves. "Ginny!" I shouted. "We're going to burn down the Forest if we keep this up!"

"So surrender!" she yelled back. I shrugged imperceptibly; well, it had been worth a try. I could see Ron and Hermione, their wands out now as well, quenching fires burning in the trees and on the floor of the clearing.

Harry was suddenly quite close to me as I continued to block Ginny's curses. "This has gotten out of hand, James," he said, urgently. "Perhaps I do owe her an explanation."

"It's up to you," I muttered, between blocking spells. "I don't mind giving up the duel if —"

At that moment, however, Harry's and my choice were rendered moot when two things happened simultaneously. Ron, who'd circled around behind my left flank while putting out fires, had suddenly cast a Disarming Charm at my left hand, blasting it from my grip. At that same moment, Ginny cast a Heart Attack Curse, a serious curse that her mother had used to defeat Bellatrix Lestrange, at my chest. The curse hit my heart, stopping it, and I fell to the ground. The Stone tumbled from my hand to the ground, and Harry, standing beside me, disappeared.

I was still conscious, of course. My Power wouldn't let me fall unconscious, and I was aware of the three of them rushing towards and standing over me.

"Is he — dead?" I heard Hermione exclaim. "Did you _kill_ him, Ginny?"

"No, just a Heart Attack Curse," Ginny replied, her voice flat. "Here's the Stone," she said, and I heard a rustling of leaves as she retrieved it. "Now I can start his heart again." There was a tapping on my chest as I heard her say, "_Finite_."

But my heart did not start. "It's not working," Ron said, anxiously. The tapping came again.

"I don't get it," Ginny said, sounding perplexed. "It should be going again!"

"We've got to get his heart going again!" Hermione said urgently.

"Why?" Ron snorted. "Five minutes ago you both sounded ready to kill him yourselves, when you found out he wasn't really Harry!"

"Ron!" Hermione gasped, appalled. "We can't just let him die! It would be murder! _Salveo Curatia_!" Hermione's Healing Charm washed over my body. She reached over, checking me again. "His heart's beating now, but it's very slow, and weak. Oooh, where's that damned Philosopher's Stone when you need it?!"

"I'll just pull it out of my bum," Ron snickered, his penchant for inappropriate humor at awkward moments asserting itself once again. "I keep it there for just such occasions."

"Don't be such an arse, Ron!"

I stopped listening. I'd taken advantage of the situation, restarting my heart on my own, but not allowing them to revive me. I had something to check out, and I couldn't do it while dueling Ginny. Looking around in Harry's brain, I found the tendril of silver thought that had led me to "King's Cross," the place between our reality and whatever lay beyond it. Dumbledore had visited Harry there, twenty-one years ago. I wanted to see if Harry could visit me as well, if I went there. I followed the thought upward, to that other place.

In "King's Cross," I look around, examining the place once again, wondering if anything might have changed in the last few hours since I was here. Nothing was different, as far as I could tell. I was clothed this time, probably because I had been clothed when started this way, and because I hoped to see Harry here; it didn't seem like meeting him naked would be a very good idea.

I didn't know what else to do, so I imagined a park bench, which promptly appeared, and sat down on it to wait for Harry. For all I know, though, he might already have been summoned by the Resurrection Stone that Ginny had taken from me.

I wondered about that Stone. Of all the Hallows, that one seemed the most perplexing, the hardest to understand. Invisibility Cloaks, as rare as they were, could be had from various places today; they were one of the items that were routinely smuggled in from Asia, though their quality was inferior compared to most of the home-grown variety. What was unusual about Ignotus Peverell's Cloak was its longevity — it had been handed down from father to son for centuries, but seemed just as effective as the day it had been made. The Elder Wand, of course, had cut a bloody path down through history, with wizards killing and dying for it by the dozens. I wasn't sure I accepted Dumbledore's theory that if the true master of the Wand died undefeated, the Wand would lose its special power. And, I realized with a start, that the ownership may have changed again, since I had been disarmed and defeated just before coming here. The question was, _who_ was now its true master?

Before I had time to contemplate the Resurrection Stone further, however, there came a voice from behind me: "James!"

I turned, smiling with surprise as I recognized both Harry and the person who'd accompanied him: Albus Dumbledore. "Hello!" I called, standing as they approached and offering my hand to Dumbledore, who took it, smiling. He looked exactly like he did on the day Harry had passed over, though of course he could appear however he chose to.

"I'm pleased to meet you, sir," I said, reaching out to him, and we shook hands pleasantly. "I'm James Harrison Monroe."

"Very nice to meet you at last, James," he said cordially. "Though I wish our surroundings weren't quite so austere." In seeming response, items of all kinds began appearing around us: marble columns, tables holding flowery arrangements, potted plants and various types and sizes, and a sizeable array of other items of artwork, both magical and mundane. We looked around momentarily, then back at each other and smiled.

"Well, ask and ye shall receive," I said, jokingly.

"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed. His expression then became more serious. "James, I do wish to offer my sincerest apologies for placing you in a most unexpected situation. When Harry chose to come with me, instead of returning to finish the task of defeating Lord Voldemort, I had no idea it would involve you so deeply, or so permanently, as it has."

"No problem," I said automatically. Harry and I both chuckled, and Dumbledore smiled as well; it was a phrase Harry tended to use when people tried to apologize to him. "It really isn't," I added, seriously. "I knew what I was doing when I took on Harry's body, and my choice to remain all these years has been freely willed."

"Thank you, dear boy," Dumbledore inclined his head in gratitude.

"Well," Harry said, with a short sigh. "Ginny will probably summon me shortly, with the Resurrection Stone, and I will have to make my final peace with her. She will have to come to terms with the fact that, no matter how much I might want to return, now, I cannot."

Dumbledore gave a small start, then turned to Harry and said, "As to that, dear boy, I believe there is a way for you to rejoin your friends if life, if you choose to."

"_What_?" Harry and I both exclaimed, at the same moment.

"How can that be?" Harry continued, looked at Dumbledore in astonishment. "I _died_, Albus! Twenty-one years have passed on Earth! James has been inside my corporeal self all that time, while I've been… elsewhere," Harry finished, now looking skeptically at Dumbledore.

"There are extenuating circumstances, Harry," Dumbledore gently reminded him. He turned to me. "James, do you recall seeing a silver thread leading from Harry's mind to this place?"

"Of course," I nodded. "That's how I was able to get here in the first place. I don't think I could have found this place on my own, if I hadn't had something to guide me here."

Dumbledore nodded. "That thread was one of Harry's last thoughts before he entered the place he, and you, James, think of as 'King's Cross.' When the body dies, our thoughts pull tighter and tighter, as we slip beyond the confines of reality, until finally, it can no longer hold them, and they pull free, and we move…on.

"But in this case," Dumbledore continued, raising a cautionary finger, "fate, in the form of James, intervened. When you restarted Harry's heart, the threads strengthened again, and in that one thread's case, it pulled loose from Harry rather than from Harry's earthly body, when we moved beyond King's Cross."

Harry's hand strayed involuntarily to his head. "I wonder what that thought was," he said, bemusedly. "I don't remember…"

"No more you would," Dumbledore smiled. "But it will come to you, if you choose."

Harry looked at me, then at Dumbledore. "I'm not sure what you're saying, Professor."

Dumbledore laughed softly. "Just Albus, now, Harry. My days of filling young heads with knowledge are done now. But I do have one more bit of knowledge for you:

"The thread, as well as leading James to this place, can lead you back."

Harry stared, and I with him. Such a simple solution! "But I'm dead!" Harry protested.

"Dear boy, _you_ have never died, have you?" Dumbledore chuckled. "Your soul is a thing as undying as existence itself. As for your body," he turned to me. "James, here, has seen to its maintenance in your absence. It has never died, either, I daresay."

"It hasn't," I nodded agreement. "Harry's heart was stopped for only seconds before Narcissa came over to check his body. I restarted his heart, so she would feel it beating, and ask after Draco."

"And that thread of thought kept the passage open all these years?" Harry asked, wonderingly. Dumbledore nodded happily.

"So you see, Harry," he placed his hand gently on Harry's shoulder. "In this case, you _can_ go home again, if you desire."

"I do," Harry nodded. "I — I've always felt as if there's been something I've left behind, left…unfinished."

"I know," his old Headmaster nodded, knowingly. "I've felt so, every moment we've spent together since you've arrived. I have always hoped there would be some way, some how, for you to find what that is, and come to terms with it."

Harry nodded, then turned to me. "James," he said, respectfully. "I realize that, in a way, I have no right to ask for my body back — after all, I did abandon it. But —"

"Say no more," I quickly silenced him. "It would be an honor to give you your life back, along with my hope that you will find what you are looking for, and with happiness."

I held out my hand to him, and Harry went to take it, but before we realized it we were hugging each other instead. When Harry let go, he turned to Dumbledore, hugging him as well. When he finally let go, his eyes were bright.

"I'm going to miss you, Albus," Harry said, his voice thick with emotion.

"I will miss you too, Harry," Dumbledore replied, sniffling. "But you will know where to find us, I believe."

Harry smiled, grinned, then laughed out loud. He waved at us both, then looked around for and found the bit of silver thread leading back to his body. He touched it and instantly faded from view.

"And that's that," I said softly, walking over to where he'd disappeared. The thread was still there, and I couldn't help but reach out and touch it. A flowery smell wafted through my nose, red hair, a blazing look and a bright, cheerful smile were in my eyes, the feel of her lips were against my own. It was Ginny. Harry's last thoughts had been of her. Even as I felt these things, the thread slipped from my fingers and disappeared.

"Ah," Dumbledore said, softly. "Harry has finally remembered _who_ he'd forgotten."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Well, the third chapter turned out not to be the last one, after all. Harry is back in the world of the living, but it turns out James created a problem for himself in sending Harry back...**

I turned to look at Professor Dumbledore. He was smiling, but even without any effort on my part to read on his thoughts, I knew he would miss Harry terribly, until there was something else to occupy his mind. Harry had returned to be with the living, hopefully to spend the rest of his days with Ginny, their children, extended family and friends, while I, who had taken over his body for the last twenty-one years, was now stuck on this side of "the veil," the place where souls in Harry's universe went when their bodies died.

"I hope Ginny, Ron and Hermione will be able to figure out the real Harry is back with them without too much trouble," I remarked. "They weren't too happy with the idea that I had taken over his body."  
Dumbledore nodded in agreement. "Much of Harry's life was filled with other minds intruding on his," he said, pensively. "I'm sure you've seen that, James, having spent the past two decades inside Harry's head."

"I have," I replied. "I was privy to everything — the dreams he had before coming to Hogwarts, even before he knew he was a wizard; the stress he had dealing with Voldemort's thoughts and emotions intermingling with his own; his struggles trying to understand what you were trying to teach him, and his frustrations at why it seemed so difficult at times." I shook my head, a bit sad to recall those memories again. "I tried not to dwell on them much, but… sometimes it was hard to ignore."

"And, now," Dumbledore inquired, "what do you wish to do?"

I smiled wryly. "Well, I didn't want to mention it while Harry was still here, but without a connection back to the living world, I have no way to get back there."

Dumbledore studied me over his half-moon spectacles. "I see. Is it your desire to 'get back there,' as you put it, James? Usually, once a soul has come to this point, he or she usually desires to continue onward, not to return."

"But I'm not a typical 'soul,' Albus," I pointed out. "I've never experienced biological death. All of that which makes me James Harrison Monroe dwelled within the body of Harry Potter for all of the time his soul was absent from it. And all of me came _here_, to this place —" I gestured at our surroundings, still the expansive, glass-domed room we had named "King's Cross" "— when I left Harry's body. I am still a Power, however — capable of moving through the limitless reaches of existence at will."

Dumbledore couldn't hide the twinkle in his eyes. "Then I fail to see your problem, James — it would seem you _could_ find your way back, if you are what you describe."

I had to admit, he had me there, it seemed. But — "I suppose it's a basic limitation," I speculated, "in the nature of the spiritual and material worlds. If death is an ultimate barrier, then it stands to reason that souls cannot move back and forth across that gulf — at least, not as easily as their bodies Apparate back and forth across the face of the earth."

"I believe you are correct," Dumbledore said, absently rubbing the side of his nose, a nose I noticed no longer seemed quite as crooked as the books had described it. "Death is, for the most part, an involuntary journey. A few wizards do, by means of extraordinary resistance, manage to imprint themselves upon the fabric of material reality, forestalling the inevitable journey for a time. Some have remained earthbound for many centuries. Sir Nicholas, the ghost of Gryffindor House, has been at the school for more than 500 years — and there are even older ghosts at Hogwarts. But there are relatively few wizards who choose such a fate; most choose to continue on, into what is for them undiscovered country, and do not return.

"The trip back from there to the living world, we therefore surmise, is even more difficult. Some might say, impossible," Dumbledore concluded.

"Is that your final answer, then?" I asked with a chuckle, though my expression hovered somewhere between amusement and resignation.

"One must be careful with absolutes," Dumbledore remarked, a look of bemusement on his face. "I remember I once spent nearly a fortnight writing a treatise on the eleven uses of dragon's blood for the Journal of Alchemical Mugwumpery, in which I declaring said eleven uses to be final and absolute. Imagine my chagrin, a few months later, when I discovered a twelfth use for it."

"I can imagine," I smiled. "But, to return to the point, would you say that returning to the living world is impossible?"

"Certainly not, dear boy — we have just witnessed evidence to the contrary a short while ago," Dumbledore pointed out.

"But, as you said, there were extenuating circumstances," I argued.

"Indeed. You had kept Harry's body alive and functioning during the time he was absent from it, and there was, quite fortuitously for Harry, a lifeline back to it from where we are now."

"A lifeline I no longer have access to," I replied, flatly. "I'm stuck here until I can figure out how to bridge the gap again. And that, Albus, is something I hope you can help me with."

"To find a way back to the living world?" Albus looked thoughtful for some time. "I do confess a certain disinclination to do so, James, perhaps owing to the fact that there are so many people here whose company I enjoy.

"However," he continued, reconsidering, "I see no reason to actively withhold any information that may be of use in helping you return."

"I appreciate that, Albus, thank you," I said, gratefully. "While I am interested in seeing how things work here, too — after all, it is not often a living person is given the opportunity to explore the afterlife — I also want to pursue other activities in the 'before' life as well," I finished, grinning.

"I quite understand, dear boy," Dumbledore smiled. "Until the unfortunate lapse in judgment that set me on an unavoidable course here, I had no interest in reaching the end of my life. In fact, I looked forward to the day when I, along with the Wizarding world, would see the end of Voldemort, with Harry helping afterwards to heal the wounds of his dark reign."

"That brings up an interesting question, Albus." An idea had sparked in my mind at the mention of Tom Riddle's _nom de guerre_. "If Voldemort is dead as well, and his soul was divided into seven — or, I suppose eight parts, counting the fragment he inadvertently placed in Harry —" Dumbledore nodded, agreeing with my statement "— what happened to all those parts, and where are they now?" I wondered.

Dumbledore was giving me an appraising look. "The answer may surprise you, I think. But, before we contemplate the fate of Tom Riddle, you should see what happens to the majority of souls that go beyond the veil. Let us go and meet some of them." Taking my arm, he led me toward one of the walls of the huge, glass-roofed building we were in. As we approached, I noticed something I hadn't seen earlier, even while carefully searching over every inch of the place: a white door, almost indistinguishable from the wall it was set in. At our approach it opened and white light streamed into the room, light that, although it seemed brighter by far than anything else in the room, was not intolerable to look at. In fact, it seemed to beckon me toward it.

I looked at Dumbledore, a bit apprehensive, and he smiled reassuringly at me. "Don't be afraid, James," he said, soothingly. "There will be nothing beyond this point that can harm you."

"I don't think I'm worried about that," I told him, honestly. "I'm more concerned that, at some point, I won't want to return to the real world."

"Would that be so bad?" he looked at me, interested in the answer.

"I don't know. I suppose I still want the choice."

"You will still have it, never fear. And perhaps one of the many beyond this door holds the key to your return," Dumbledore suggested.

I smiled at the thought, and nodded to Albus, and we stepped through the door into what lay beyond.

Once beyond the door, our environment quickly changed, and we were walking across a lush green field under a brilliant blue sky, surrounded on several sides by small hills that limited our vision to a few hundred yards. Dumbledore was setting a brisk pace, but I kept up with him easily.

"Where are we going?" I asked him.

He looked at me and gave a slight shrug. "Nowhere, really, but I decided it would be a nice opportunity to observe our surroundings—to "look around a bit," as it were, before meeting the others."

"You know," I said, as we continued walking steadily along, "if I didn't know we were in the afterlife I'd think it looked a bit funny to see an old man walking like this. You look pretty spry for a man of, what — 138?"

Dumbledore smiled, genuinely amused. "Of course, my age, even my appearance, are matters of personal preference here." I looked back at him and now saw — surprisingly — a tall, gangly, auburn-haired youth smiling back at me. "I suppose this is about how old I feel now," he said, of his current appearance. "Just as I looked, fresh out of Hogwarts and ready to take on the world. But —" he reverted to his elderly appearance. "I find that people here are more comfortable with the image of me they all remember best."

We had come to the top of a small hill, and were staring down its far side, where a familiar-looking house stood. It reminded me of the Burrow, the Weasley family house; but, while the Burrow had a homey, but somewhat dilapidated appearance, this house appeared very well-kept, very neat, as if someone had spent a lot of time fussing with the trim and the paint. In this place, however, I tended not to believe no one worked on this house. It seemed more likely that it appeared the way it did because that's how someone _wanted_ it to.

As if reading my thoughts, Dumbledore said, "My humble abode — although it is not really 'mine,' of course, as the concept of ownership here is completely irrelevant."

"Very nice place," I said. "It looks a bit large for just you, though." I let a smile come across my face. "I suppose I'm having a bit of difficulty with the idea that anyone needs a house in the afterlife."

" 'Needs' may be a less than accurate qualification," Dumbledore agreed, his eyes twinkling, "but some may be less the comfortable with the idea that we should all meet in a public house." I chuckled.

"Why don't we see who's there?" Dumbledore suggested, and we walked down the hill to the front door of the house where he bowed me inside. The front room was quite spacious; the walls were hung with paintings, and all of the places depicted seemed to be familiar to me (through both Harry's memories, and my own). There were comfortable-looking chairs arranged in front of a warm, crackling fire, and several people standing in the room turned to greet us as we entered.

"Albus, welcome back!" the nearest one, whom I recognized as Alastor Moody, his eye and other facial features restored to a young but mature appearance, smiled as he saw who'd joined them. "We were beginning to wonder what had become of you and Harry! And who's the new arrival?" he asked, giving me a smile and nod in welcome, which I returned as well.

"This is James Harrison Monroe," Dumbledore introduced me to the others, though I could name them all on sight, from Harry's memories. Remus Lupin, looking much younger than he had when teaching at Hogwarts, nodded as he shook my hand.

"And this is Nymphadora Tonks," he said, indicating the beautiful young woman standing next to him. She smiled engagingly at me as she shook my hand.

"Very nice to meet you," she said. "Call me Dora, by the way." She gave Lupin a look of mild exasperation. "Remus always forgets that I don't like my first name. Have you met Harry? Your first and middle names are almost the same as his, except reversed."

"I have met him," I said, feeling slightly uncomfortable. It seems that they didn't know yet about Harry. I looked at Dumbledore inquiringly, wondering if I should say anything.

"By an interesting coincidence," Dumbledore said, "James, here, has inhabited Harry's body for the past twenty-one years." Moody, Lupin and Tonks all looked at one another in astonishment.

"Why in the world would you want to do that?" Tonks blurted out. She looked at Dumbledore in shock. "Harry's been here with us all this time — he never mentioned anything about it at all."

Before I could say anything, Dumbledore spoke. "He never knew about it until very recently, Dora. Harry has always felt a bit out of place here, however, so when the Resurrection Stone summoned him —"

"What?!" Remus demanded. "Harry dropped that in the Forbidden Forest after he summoned us to him, just before Voldemort struck him down, sending him to us. We thought it would be lost with his death."

"It was lost, Remus," Dumbledore said, "But found again, apparently —"

"So where _is_ Harry, Albus?" Moody asked quietly, though his voice was tense.

"Harry has been rejoined with his living body, Alastor," Dumbledore said, calmly, but those quiet words had a profound effect on the group.

"Impossible!" Remus said flatly. "There is no going back!"

"Don't be daft, man!" Moody snorted at Dumbledore.

"But how could that be!" Tonks gasped, now looking at me.

"Harry's body never died," I took it upon myself to tell her. "When Albus first found him, twenty-one years ago, he was in the 'entrance hall' of this place, trying to figure out what had happened to him. There was a final thread of thought tying him to his body, but when Harry decided to come here with Dumbledore, that thought detached from him, keeping the connection open between here and the living world.

"Earlier today, I summoned Harry with the Resurrection Stone, to ask if he wanted to return to his body," I explained, as they all gave me their complete attention. "As it turned out, he did, and he was able to bridge the gap because of that final thought. However, once he returned to his body, it returned as well, severing the connection between here and the living world."

"So?" Moody said, with a shrug and toss of his long, dark hair. "We no longer have any interest in that place. Eternity is before us now!"

"I still have an interest in 'that place'," I said flatly. "I am still a living being."

Moody looked at me, surprised, but there was skepticism on his face. "How could you be here if you're still living?" he wanted to know. "Living things cannot cross over to here, where time and space do not exist, only thought."

"I don't know that I can answer that," I said slowly. "But I was able, by making myself immaterial, to enter Harry's body and brain, and become part of his thoughts. I suppose that, as a pattern of thought, I was able to enter this place. But, until I can find a way to become material again, by finding a way back to the living world, I'm stuck here."

"There are worse places you could be," Remus said, gravely.

"So I've gathered," I agreed. "I assume Voldemort is not here with you."

None of them responded. "So where is he?" I asked.

"We — we don't know," Tonks finally stammered. The others shook their heads as well. I looked at Dumbledore, but his face was unreadable, and I wasn't going violate the privacy of his thoughts. Did Dumbledore know something Tonks and the others didn't?

"So, when are you gonna tell James and Lily about Harry?" Moody demanded. "I think they got a right to know."

"They do, Alastor," Dumbledore agreed. "Mr. Monroe and I will tell them."

"That's fitting," Moody growled, staring at me, and I didn't need to read his thoughts to know he wasn't happy that I was here and Harry wasn't. So far, it seemed, the only person who was happy I'd saved Harry's body to return to him had been Harry himself.

Dumbledore and I left the house, setting out across the hillside again, and our surroundings now changed rapidly as we walked: we passed through a lush, verdant valley, a river flowing lazily through it; we walked past a craggy cliff overlooking a placid blue lake; and finally, to seaside beach, with waves breaking gently upon it, where I saw three figures lying side-by-side in the distance.

"Don't be upset if they do not take the news well," Dumbledore confided to me softly, as we approached them across the moist, cool sand. "As you may have gathered, someone returning to the living world is unprecedented here."

"I did gather that," I muttered. "Though I hope to set another precedent, very soon."

The three figures had noticed us; one of them had stood, and was waving at us. I could tell, based on his size and flowing black hair, that it was Sirius Black, James Potter's best friend through all their schooling at Hogwarts and afterwards. I raised a hand in greeting back, and by the time we were close enough to speak without shouting, James and Lily, still lying on the beach dressed in swimwear (as was Sirius) were smiling at us as well. Irrationally, I was a bit afraid of how badly they would take the news, though it occurred to me with some amusement that we had come here to tell them that their son was — alive.

"What's up, Albus?" Sirius grinned as we reached them. He was tall and handsome, very unlike how Harry remembered him after his time in Azkaban — he had been emaciated, gaunt, and haggard, after his time in the wizards' prison. "Hello," he said to me, thrusting out a hand to shake. "I'm Sirius Black, and this is James Potter and Lily Evans. I suppose you know Dumbledore, since you're here with him. What's your name?"

"I'm James Harrison Monroe," I said. I wasn't sure what to say after that, so I fell silent.

"Interesting name," James said, getting up and shaking my hand as well. Even without glasses, he looked very much like his son. "My son Harry's middle name is James, after me. Your name is sort of a reversal of his." He looked at Dumbledore. "So what brings you out here to see us, Albus?"

When Dumbledore didn't respond immediately, Lily rose to her feet, looking at him intently. "This is something about Harry, isn't it?"

Dumbledore nodded. Lily, James and Sirius all exchanged glances. "What is it?" Lily asked.

We explained everything to them, as we'd done for Moody, Remus and Tonks. Even though they were no less incredulous, they seemed more understanding of it than the other had been.

"I wondered about him," Lily said to James, her head now resting against his shoulder; she'd taken hold of him when Dumbledore told them Harry had crossed back into the world of the living. "He seemed a bit sad to be here, sometimes."

"But that's normal for some people," Sirius said, a frown creasing his handsome features. "We can be sad that we're separated from those still in the living world. Look at Fred Weasley — he gets a little fussed every so often, thinking about his brother George."

"It was different for Harry, though, Sirius," James said, giving his friend a look of deep affection. "He always spoke of missing something while he was here, something he couldn't quite identify."  
"That's true," I said, and they all looked at me. "There was a bit of thought left behind when Harry came here; it was all of the emotions he had for Ginny — she was the last person he thought of before Voldemort hit him with the Killing Curse." Lily gasped softly, her hand going to her mouth, and James nodded, understanding at last.

"When he went back," I continued, "he took that thought back with him. He's whole again, back in the living world. And he is with her."

Lily nodded, smiling, though her eyes were bright with tears, and James held her closely against him, while Sirius put a hand on James' shoulder. His eyes were shining as well.

"Thank you for telling us," Lily said to me, wiping tears off of her cheeks. "I'm glad Harry was able to find what he'd lost, and to return to be with the love of his life."

"Something's not tracking, though," Sirius said, looking at me with an air of someone who wasn't being given the entire story. "How were you able to get inside of Harry's head like that?" I hadn't mentioned my true origin, only that I'd been near Harry, invisible, when he was struck down. Moody, Remus and Tonks hadn't even questioned that aspect of my story — I got the impression they thought I had possessed Harry somehow, rather than actually becoming immaterial and entering his mind directly.

"That may be difficult to explain," I said, carefully.

"Well, we have plenty of time," Sirius drawled. "An eternity, in fact."

I sighed. I certainly didn't want to spend the rest of my existence _here_, no matter how nice it seemed. "I can cut to the chase, then," I said curtly. "I'm a Power."

"A _Power_?" Lily repeated, sensing I was using the word as a proper noun. "Are you suggesting that you have abilities beyond those of witches and wizards?"

"Yes, I am. I came from a reality entirely different from your own, an existence where your lives were only fictions made up by a writer to entertain her daughter, a story that was eventually published and became known around the world, so that the name Harry Potter is as famous there, among people who have no magical abilities, as it is in your reality in the Wizarding world."

Sirius exchanged glances with Lily, then James, then looked at me again. "That seems like a load of dung, mate," he said, mildly. He looked at Dumbledore. "Where did you dig this loony up, Albus?"

"I assure you, Sirius, he is serious," Dumbledore said calmly. "He was able to do things no wizard could do, by will alone. He brought Harry's body back to life, and I have no reason to otherwise doubt his story, since Harry was able to return to the living world with his help."

"But, from what you said earlier," Sirius objected, "you're stuck here, because the connection back to the living world disappeared when Harry's mind reclaimed the lost thought linking it and the 'entrance hall,' correct?" I nodded. "So if you're so all-powerful, why can't you just leave?"

"Because," I said once again, starting to lose patience, "I can't go somewhere if I don't know how to reach it."

"So what's stopping you from figuring it out, then?" Sirius tone was almost taunting. He was clearly testing me, to see what I'd do.

"Nothing, I guess," I said shortly. "I guess I'll find see if I can find out." I spread my arms wide, and _expanded_.

Unlike the other people who were here, I was still physically alive. In this place, it was a different kind of living, since this reality wasn't physical in the same sense that the material metaverse was, full of quantum and matter-energy fields, but ironically, while everyone here was of the same _essence_ as this reality, I was different. And that difference made it possible for me to interfere with this reality in a way that was fundamentally different from the way that everyone else here interacted with it. They could look however they wanted here, move in any direction or fashion they desired, and this reality let them, because it was one with them and they with it.

But for me, it was simply and enclosing, constraining envelope, like I was inside some gigantic blob of fluid, of unknown size and shape. But I had complete control of every particle of _my_ essence, and I could move it wherever I chose, at will. A sphere of my essence expanded invisibly as I pushed myself outward, to find the boundaries of this existence.

I quickly found there was no limit to the velocity my essence was capable of in this reality. There seemed to be no maximum speed here; presumably, things operated with the "speed of thought" here, a speed that was supposed to be much greater than light, if not instantaneous.

There were a lot of entities here, I found, scattered in different regions all around this reality. In a way, it reminded me of an immense brain, although it wasn't functioning like a physical brain; it was more like a map of someone's mind — similar ideas (and therefore similar beings) were grouped together, with connections going between them as people here shifted from one group to another. There were mostly wizards here, though I sensed some non-magical folk as well, spread among the others, with small clumps of non-magical beings in a few spots. I was still expanding, I had no idea how big this reality would turn out to be or how far I would go before I reached the limit of my expansion. In a material reality, I would simply convert some of the material I encountered to more of my essence — in spacetime, there is more than enough random atoms of hydrogen and helium to co-opt for such use. Here, however, I would be stealing substance from every being here — this reality was a part of all of them, and they of it.

Back at the center of my expansion, I could sense amazement and some consternation on the part of James, Lily and Sirius. They were worried that I would do something to this reality that might compromise or harm it. In a sense, I saw their point — I was in effect permeating them and everyone else here, just as I had permeated Harry's mind when I entered his body. So far, no one had liked that I'd done that — it probably smacked too closely of possession, which most of them considered a violation as heinous as rape. A few more subjective seconds and I would have to stop and reverse myself. None of them could actually detect me, but the simple fact that they knew I was doing something they couldn't understand was damning enough.

Expanding in all directions, I finally began to encounter — myself. So this reality was somehow embedded in a higher-dimensional reality, I quickly deduced. What this meant was that, like traveling on the surface of the Earth, it was possible to travel in one direction and come back to your starting point. To actually _leave_ the earth and travel into space, you have to go in a direction orthogonal to the two directions you can travel on its surface. If you can imagine that happening in three or more dimensions, you have an idea of what I was trying to do, to escape this reality.

Unfortunately, I encountered, not an embedding physical reality, but more realities like this one, coexisting side-by-side, like layers in an onion. Not in the physical sense, however — they co-existed in some sort of _phase space_, similar to the way the material multiverse exists. I was able to move across these boundaries by altering the quantum phase of my essence to match these neighboring realities; at the same time, I kept a portion of myself anchored in the phase of the original reality I was in. After traveling across several million realities in both increasing and decreasing phase increments, I finally gave up and returned to the original phase, then contracted back to my original form, rejoining Dumbledore and James, Lily and Sirius.

"What the hell did you do?" Sirius demanded. "Where did you go?"

"Everywhere," I replied, curtly. "I went everywhere in this reality I could get to, and farther."

"Most impressive," Dumbledore said, looking at me with even more interest than earlier. "Did you find a way to leave?"

I shook my head. "There are realities adjacent to this one, similar to it but with different beings in it. But —" I sighed, frustrated "— they are all like this reality — immaterial, based upon thought rather than matter or energy. I would gain nothing by going to one of them — it would be going from room to room in a hotel — the room would be different, but it would still be the same hotel."

"So you're stuck here?" Lily asked, looking concerned.

I nodded unhappily. "At least," I added, "until I find out how this reality connects to the material universe."

James looked at Dumbledore, his eyebrows raised, then back at me. "Well, by thought, obviously," he said, like it was simplicity itself.

I managed to chuckle, even though him saying it like that irked me a bit. "Obviously," I agreed. "But I meant I needed to understand _how_ it connects, so I can make that happen and get myself back to the living world."

"I think," Dumbledore said, sounding almost distracted, "that Sirius wil be able to help us, at least partially, with this problem."

"Me?" Sirius looked as surprised as James and Lily did. As _I_ did, for that matter. "I don't know anything about it!"

"More than you think," Dumbledore said matter-of-factly. "After all, you were the only person known to have passed physically through the Veil."

"So?" Sirius snapped. "It just happened — I had nothing to do with it, except being the one who fell through!"

"Nonetheless," Dumbledore said simply. "I also believe," he added, almost to himself, "that we should locate the one person I believe capable of helping us solve this puzzle."

"And who is that?" I asked, before any of the others.

Dumbledore looked at me, and his blue eyes seemed to flash with hidden emotion as he said, "Gellert Grindelwald."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"Grindelwald?" Sirius repeated, looking surprised. "What could _he_ possibly do to help you? The bloke's a nutter, even here. There's rumors that he's hiding out, somewhere, still trying to get over the defeat you handed him."

Dumbledore was unperturbed. "Gellert's repentance of his past misdeeds has continued, even here, where such things are normally forgiven and forgotten," he said, primarily for my benefit, though I knew enough about the man to be unsurprised that opinion concerning him, of many here in the afterlife, would not be overly charitable.

Gellert Grindelwald had been the most famous Dark wizard prior to Voldemort's rise, in the 1970's. A brilliant student at Durmstrang, Grindelwald had nonetheless gotten himself expelled over practices that exceeded even that institute's tolerance of Dark magic. He'd traveled to England in 1899, staying with his great-aunt Bathilda Bagshot in Godric's Hollow, to learn more about the Deathly Hallows, where he met Albus Dumbledore, newly-graduated from Hogwarts. The two had struck up an immediate friendship. It had been rumored that Dumbledore's interest in Grindelwald had extended beyond their mutual competence in magic and their fascination with the Hallows. I couldn't help but wonder at Dumbledore's motivation for seeking out Grindelwald now.

Sirius folded his arms across his chest. "If you think he can help you somehow, fine, but I'm coming with," he announced, determinedly, as if he expected Dumbledore to oppose the idea.

To his surprise, however, Dumbledore nodded agreeably. "That would be most appreciated, Sirius, thank you."

"You're welcome," Sirius said, automatically. A small look passed between him and James — a _I-can-never-figure-out-what-Albus-is-up-to_ sort of look.

"Before you go," Lily said suddenly, "I want a word with James, here." She turned to me, and I was struck, for the first time since we'd met, with her eyes. They were, as many people had remarked to Harry, very much like his — green, and deeply expressive

"I've been wanting to thank you for giving Harry another chance," she said softly. "I know that many of us will miss him here, in his absence." I nodded, thinking of Dumbledore, and I was sure Sirius and his father would miss him as well.

"I will miss him very much," she went on, as if she had heard my thoughts, "but I am glad he has the chance to experience life with his children and family. We had only a little more than a year with him before we were taken, but that was the happiest time I can remember."

"I understand," I said, noticing that Lily and I seemed quite alone at the moment; the others, though present, had withdrawn their attention, giving us this moment of privacy. "I remember his thoughts, when he saw you, in the Forbidden Forest, with James, Sirius and Remus. It gave him a lot of comfort to see you then, and know you were proud of him."

"And it was nice to have him here, for a while," Lily smiled, though I sensed it was a bittersweet emotion. "We always seem to be passing each other, going to and fro, back and forth between life and death." We both smiled.

"It seems like you're the first person, other than Albus, who hasn't been upset with me for spending over twenty years in Harry's body," I said, candidly. "Ginny nearly took my head off when she found out."

Lily gave me a wry look. "It may have been her shock at discovering the man she'd loved and bore children with for the past two decades wasn't who she thought he was," she suggested. "My own perspective is somewhat different, me being his mother, not his lover."

I nodded, feeling strange to be looking into her eyes this way, feeling so close to her at this moment, when I knew much of what I felt was because of Harry's memories and emotions about her. It was hard not to reach out and embrace her, to exult in her life and her presence and her love of Harry. One of my hands moved toward her face, to touch her; I stopped just short, however, and withdrew it without completing the gesture.

"I know Harry l-loved you very much," I whispered. "He missed you terribly when he was growing up."

"He told me," she whispered in return. "I miss him terribly, now. But I am happy he has another chance. And I will see him again, someday."

I bowed my head. The others were with us again. Sirius cleared his throat. "We'd better get a move on if we're going to find this Grindelwald bloke." He turned to leave, but paused for a moment, looking toward James. "I'll find you again as soon as I can, mate," he said, quietly. James nodded, smiling.

Both Lily and James gave Dumbledore a quick hug, and James shook my hand warmly. "Best of luck to you," he told me, then Dumbledore, Sirius and I set out to find Gellert Grindelwald.

We walked alongside Dumbledore, following his lead. He had looked around, briefly, before we set out, then pointed in a direction that I considered _north_ and said, "That way, I think." After several minutes of walking, however, we were passing into rougher and rougher country without seeing anyone. The trees around us, originally green and beautiful, were becoming more and more gray and drab by comparison. Who would care to live in such a place as this, I wondered, when you could be surrounded by whatever beautiful landscapes you desired?

"Didn't you say earlier that you'd been everywhere in this reality that it was possible to go?" Sirius asked as we walked, in a tone I decided was mildly challenging. "So why don't you know where Grindelwald is, then?"

"I wasn't looking for anyone, I was trying to find out the extent and boundaries of this reality," I answered, keeping my reply friendly. "Besides," I shrugged, "if anyone ought to know where Gellert Grindelwald is here, it would be Albus."

"Oh?" Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Why is that?"

"Um —" I realized Sirius couldn't have read Rita Skeeter's book, _The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore_, in which she detailed Dumbledore and Grindelwald meeting, back in the summer of 1899, and their subsequent friendship, which ended upon the death of Dumbledore's sister Ariana later that same year. Would Dumbledore have spoken of to anyone here?

"James is referring to my early friendship with Gellert, Sirius," Dumbledore said, not looking at either of us. "It is generally true, here, that the more one is acquainted with an individual, the easier it is to locate them. However, I only spent a few months with Gellert before our parting of the ways; the next time we met was during the duel in which I defeated him."

"If that's the case, then," I pointed out, "then it should not be too difficult to locate Voldemort, since you knew him during his time at Hogwarts, and met him a few times afterward as well." Dumbledore didn't appear to have heard me, however; he was looking around at the surroundings we were passing through. They had steadily declined in appearance as we made our way northward, and the sky had gone a dull blue-gray; the grass below us, once a verdant green, was now a more sedate olive green. The trees had all but disappeared, replaced by bushes and thickets. Wherever we were going, it did not appear we would be in pleasant surroundings. _What kind of heaven _is_ this place_, I wondered.

"Someone up ahead," Sirius pointed out, and we could see a figure, darkly dressed, seated on the gray stump of a tree, holding something in his hands. "Something familiar about him…" Sirius looked at Dumbledore, a bit of a frown on his face, but Dumbledore had broken into a delighted smile upon seeing whoever was ahead of us. I, too, felt there was something familiar about the man ahead, but I couldn't quite lay my finger on why I felt that way. We continued to approach, making no effort to conceal our presence; even so, the man didn't seem to notice us.

At almost the same moment, Sirius and I recognized him. "I should've known," Sirius muttered. He was quite changed from the days when I (Harry, really) knew him: his black hair was now smooth and flowing, and his features were softer as well, and much improved from the more sallow complexion he wore when he was still alive.

"Severus, my dear man!" Dumbledore said happily. Snape looked up from his book with an expression of almost-surprise, which quickly gave way to an uncharacteristic smile.

"Albus," he said, standing and placing the book on the stump. He was still smiling, but it was a reserved smile, the expression of a man clearly unused to doing so. "I have been meaning to come see you," he said slowly. Dumbledore extended his hand, and after a moment, Snape took it, and they shook hands briefly.

"You've both been here for quite some time, Snape," Sirius said, his tone light, but it was the first time I'd heard anyone here refer to someone by last name alone. "Don't you think you might've been round a bit earlier?"

Snape's black eyes moved over to Sirius, and his smile all but disappeared, though his tone remained friendly. "Sirius. I see you're looking somewhat better than your post-Azkaban days." His right hand very deliberately came out, extending toward Sirius, who looked down at it in surprise before extending his own; they shook for a brief moment, then each pulled away quickly.

Snape's gaze at last fell on me. "I took you at first to be Sirius's bosom chum, James Potter, but I see you are someone different. Though," he added as an afterthought, "you do seem to remind me of him." His face changed, and I had the impression that he felt almost — apprehensive? "You aren't, by any chance, _Harry_ Potter, are you?"

I shook my head, but before I could respond, Dumbledore answered for me. "This is James Harrison Monroe, Severus. He spent a some time with Harry's living friends before joining us here."

Snape shook my hand, and was giving me a calculating look. "I seem to remember a rumor floating around up here, that Harry joined us shortly after I arrived. Is that true, Albus?" Dumbledore nodded.

"Haven't had much time to do more than listen to rumors, Severus?" Sirius interjected. He waved at the book Snape had been reading. "Been pretty busy, have you?"

"Have you been concerned about me, Sirius?" Snape shot back. "I suppose I was looking the other way all the times you've been round to check on me?" His tone was freely laced with irony.

Sirius ignored the question. "What have you been doing out here all this time? I can't imagine you're still reading potions manuals." He started to reach for the book, but Snape stepped between him and the stump.

"I can't imagine you would be interested in what's in that album," Snape said, his tone cautioning.

"You might be pleasantly surprised," Sirius smirked at him. Neither of them moved for several seconds, each unwilling to give ground to the other. Dumbledore watched them both, his expression curious. It probably was interesting to him, seeing two men he'd known well in life, each of whom loathed the other, now trying to get along in this place of supposed peace, tranquility and bliss.

My curiosity aroused, I focused my attention on the book Snape had placed on the stump. As he had said, it was an album, not a book. I allowed my essence to penetrate the cover, and in a moment I had viewed its entire contents. They were, to say the least, surprising.

The album was filled with photographs of places and people, some of whom I recognized as having died during the Final War with Voldemort. The landscapes were all stunningly beautiful, nothing at all like the place we were in now. How had Snape gotten them?

The two were still squared off against each other, with Dumbledore watching both of them with interest. "Where did the photographs come from?" I asked, to break the stalemate.

Snape looked back at the album, then at me; his black eyes were appraising me. "Interesting," he said slowly. "No one should be able to see inside that album without at least touching the cover."

"I did touch it," I replied. "Just not in the way you think."

"James has some rather…unusual abilities, Severus," Dumbledore explained. "Which brings me to the reason we are here, although I confess I had not expected to find _you_. We are looking for Gellert Grindelwald."

Snape's eyebrows shot up. "What possible reason could you have for wanting to speak with _him_, Albus?"

"James, here, is seeking a way to free himself from this reality," Dumbledore replied. He quickly summarized my situation to Snape, who grew more and more intrigued as the story unfolded. When Dumbledore finished, Snape seemed impressed, though in his typical fashion he held his peace about any impressions concerning my story.

"If he is anywhere nearby I know nothing of his presence," Snape shrugged. "I seldom see anyone at all, here —"

"Severus, oh my gosh!" a voice rang out excitedly, and we turned to behold a slender, brown-haired young man rushing toward us. There was an object hung around his neck — I realized that it was, oddly, a camera. "Who are all your —" the young man stopped short upon seeing Dumbledore. "Albus Dumbledore! Oh my gosh! It's good to see you again, sir!"

Dumbledore was smiling in pleasant surprise at the young man. "It is good to see you again, Colin," he said. "I'm sorry to say I had not realized you had joined us, however."

"Yeah," the young man (whom I now recognized as Colin Creevy) said, his voice sounding breathless (although that was impossible, here) with excitement. "I got it from some black-haired witch who was running around during the final battle, killing anyone who mentioned the name 'Harry Potter.' I thought I ought to try and stop her, but —" he shrugged "— she was better than I thought she was." He turned to Snape. "I got you some more pictures, Severus. Really nice ones, too! I saw a great waterfall that…" he trailed off as Snape held up a silencing hand.

"Thank you, Colin," he said, in an uncharacteristically gentle voice. "I'll have a look at them when our guests have left."

"Excuse me, Colin," Dumbledore inquired. "But what is it, exactly, that you do for Severus?"

Severus did not look happy that Dumbledore asked the question, but he did not interrupt as Colin happily explained. "I've been exploring for Severus—taking pictures of people and places here, while he stays here and… um… does… well — er, whatever he does here," he finally shrugged.

"How long have you been doing this?" Sirius asked, in apparent disbelief.

"Since I got here," Colin replied. "Well, really, pretty much since I arrived at Hogwarts."

"Really?" Dumbledore said, his eyebrows arching in surprise. He turned to look at Snape, who stared back expressionlessly. "What did you do for him at Hogwarts?"

"Severus knew I really liked Harry Potter," Colin explained, his voice still filled with excitement. "He asked me to take a few pictures of him. Course, I didn't mind doing that, not one bit! Later on, he asked me to keep an eye on Harry, and his friends, and let him know what they were up to."

"Your own little spy, Severus?" Dumbledore smiled. "Very ingenious."

"Well, I didn't tell him _everything_," Colin demurred. "We were still all Gryffindors, you know. But I took a lot of other pictures for Severus as well. He really liked seeing them.

"I know a lot of people didn't like Severus at school," he continued, more quietly, giving Snape a look of quiet admiration that had Sirius staring at him, incredulous. "He was a pretty strict teacher, and he did tend to favor the students in his House, but I figured, the reason why he wanted to know about Harry was 'cause he was trying to protect him, somehow."

Sirius snorted, but Colin continued, his tone earnest. "Oh, there were lots of times Severus wanted to know, after Harry had been hurt, if he was doing okay, or how things were going for him when he got his House or his team in trouble. I saw how concerned he was for all that, so I know he was on Harry's side."

Colin fell silent, and no one spoke for several moments, until Dumbledore said, quietly, "I believe you are correct, Colin. Very impressive, Severus. You had even me fooled."

"There is nothing to be fooled about," Snape replied immediately. "You required me to look after the Potter boy and I followed your instructions."

"With rather more enthusiasm than your attitude suggested, it seems," Dumbledore averred. "I was under the impression that you did no more than absolutely required to keep yourself in both my and Lord Voldemort's good graces."

"Failing to do so with the Dark Lord carried much more severe implications than with you," Snape pointed out. "As I eventually discovered."

"As did I," Dumbledore agreed.

"In general," I remarked, "an inclination toward killing your own employees is not a good management style." Sirius chuckled and Colin laughed, while Dumbledore smiled in agreement.

"This is all well and good," Snape, who had not reacted to my comment, pointed out. "But, don't you think you should all be off to find Grindelwald rather than standing around trading quips with Colin and me?"

"Oh!" Colin said, wide-eyed. He reached into the robes he was wearing and pulled out a handful of photographs. "I took a picture just a while ago…" flipping through the photographs, he handed one to Snape. "I found this wizard sitting in a room at the top of a tall, black tower. Is this who you're talking about, Severus?"

Snape looked at the picture for several moments, then silently handed it to Dumbledore. Sirius and I looked over his shoulders at it: it was a picture of an old man, hunched and shivering, sitting upon a rude wooden bench.

"Is that him?" Sirius asked. "Is that Grindelwald?"

"It is, I think," Dumbledore said, handing the photograph back to Colin. "Where did you take this picture?"

"Not very far from here, that way." Colin pointed toward the north, in the direction we'd been traveling. "I could take you there, if you like."

"That won't be necessary, Colin, but thank you," Dumbledore said, but Colin looked so disappointed he added, "however, I have no objections if you would like to accompany us. Do you see any reason not to allow Colin along, James?"

"None," I said, shaking my head. "The more, the merrier."

"Very good," Dumbledore again turned northward, and we followed, but after only a few steps he stopped and looked back. Snape had seated himself back on the stump and picked up the album once again. "Severus? Aren't you coming?"

"No, thank you," Snape said, without looking up. "I am quite content right here."

"You're not afraid, are you, Severus?" Sirius asked softly, but the words were cutting in spite of the gentleness with which they were spoken.

"My reasons for not accompanying you are my business," Snape said, still studying the album. "Colin, I would appreciate it if you brought back some photographs of your adventure."

"Of course, Severus!" Colin said enthusiastically.

"Is this what you're reduced to, then?" Sirius said; his voice was the coldest I'd ever heard anyone speak since arriving here. "Avoiding everyone who's happy and living through someone else's eyes and vision of heaven?"

The album slammed shut and Snape was up and striding toward us. He stopped, his nose barely an inch from Sirius's, and snapped, "Do you really suppose you understand what my motivations are, Sirius Black? You have _no idea_ what I went through, all the years I spied for Albus against the Dark Lord!"

"Of course I don't," Sirius fired back at him. "I was on holiday in Azkaban most of that time, or hidden away in my family's house while you complained I was slacking off! So what _are_ you doing out here, in the middle of nowhere, if not avoiding people?"

Snape glared at Sirius for several seconds before turning and stalking away. "That's none of your business, Black," he finally said, over one shoulder. "Just go." He walked back to the stump and sat down, facing away from them.

Dumbledore looked as if he was about to say something more to Snape, but Colin put up a hand to stay his words, shaking his head. "I've tried to talk to him about it, Albus," he said softly, "but he won't budge. We should go."

Dumbledore nodded, and with a last solemn look at Snape's back, he turned and walked in the direction Colin had pointed to earlier. We walked for some time before anyone spoke.

"I know it's not good for him to be out here alone," Colin finally said, when Snape was no longer visible behind us. "Or for me, either, I suppose," he shrugged. "But I don't want to abandon him. I take pictures for him, trying to get him to reconnect with others here." He looked at Dumbledore with some embarrassment on his face. "I even take pictures of you and your visitors, Albus," he admitted. "But when I suggested talking to you, he forbade me doing it. He didn't want you to know where he was."

"You are always welcome at my cottage, Colin," Dumbledore said seriously. "As is Severus, when he decides to join us."

"Is there anyone he wants you to take pictures of in particular?" Sirius asked. "Has he requested pictures of someone?"

Colin reflected for a moment. "No," he said at last, "no one. He puts all the pictures I take in that album."

"Maybe not all of them," I said, remembering that there was one person I'd met her whose photographs were missing from the album. I'd seen every photo in it when I'd scanned it from a distance.

"Is someone missing?" Sirius asked, his interest piqued. "Is it Harry? I noticed he didn't like the idea that you might be him rather than Prongs."

"No," I said, looking at Dumbledore. He understood who I meant.

"If Severus wishes to discuss it with us someday, Sirius," Dumbledore said, looking at him. "He knows where to find us. Until then, we should respect his desire for privacy."

"Fine," Sirius waved a hand airily, though I could sense he was irked being muzzled by Dumbledore. "But I won't be holding my breath 'til then. Not that doing so would matter much, here."

We continued on for some time, as our surroundings grew steadily grayer and colder, until we were walking on a flat rock surface under dark storm clouds. A cold wind whistled around us, and Colin was shivering before Sirius suggested he think about wearing a heavy coat.

"Oh, yeah," Colin laughed nervously, and a heavy parka suddenly covered him. "I should know better. Usually the weather doesn't affect me much."

"It's not the weather that's affecting us, here," Dumbledore said, absently, looking around at our surroundings with interest. "I suspect this is Gellert's doing."

"How could he be affecting you, unless you let him?" I asked. "You can define your own surroundings in this reality."

"Normally, that is true," Dumbledore agreed. "But while our overall purpose here is one of mutual cooperation and understanding, it is possible for individuals to refuse to cooperate.

"We saw that earlier, with Severus," Dumbledore went on, looking at Colin. "Whose sphere of cooperation is limited to Colin, here. He has shut out everyone else from his past, though they would welcome him freely.

"With Gellert, his refusal to cooperate with the nature of this place is almost total. I cannot begin to understand his thought processes, but he evidently wants to see no one. This chilly climate is his way of warning us to stay away."

"But, we're not staying away," I said. "We need to at least talk to him, to find out what he knows."

"Yes," Dumbledore agreed. "And I believe," he said, pointing ahead of us, toward the outline of a tall building just coming into view, "that we have found him."

As Dumbledore expected, the building we had seen from a distance was the fortress at Nuremgard, built by Grindelwald to hold his enemies, but ultimately used to house the Dark wizard himself, after his defeat by Dumbledore. The tower rose up imposingly above us at we approached, its dark stone ramparts offering mute testimony to Grindelwald's presence. Both Sirius and Colin seemed impressed with it — Colin almost in awe as he now realized who it was that he'd photographed.

We paused in front of the building, inspecting the two heavy, metal-clad doors that barred our entrance. Above them was carved an image of a triangle enclosing a circle, with a line bisecting it, top to bottom: the symbol of the Deathly Hallows, used by Grindelwald and now associated more with him than with those three legendary artifacts. Below the symbol were three phrases, carved into the black stone, in German, French and English:

_Für das größere gute_

_Pour le bon plus grand_

_For the greater good_

"This doesn't look much like 'the greater good,'" Colin remarked as we stared up at the words. "What's that supposed to be?" he asked, pointing up at the symbol above them.

"Didn't they teach you about that in school?" Sirius looked at him in surprise.

"Well, I missed over half of my first year in History of Magic," Colin pointed out. "I was Petrified."

"I know what you mean," Sirius nodded. "I was bored stiff by Professor Binns, too. Anyway, that's Grindelwald's symbol, the mark of his Dark plans to conquer all of Mugglekind, until Albus here defeated him in 1945 and he was imprisoned at Nuremgard prison. This place," Sirius nodded toward the tower. "Right, Albus?"

Dumbledore murmured assent. He was studying the doors, apparently wondering how we would get around them. "Colin," he finally asked. "How did gain entry to the tower, when you first took Gellert's picture?"

"Uh, I just walked up and knocked," Colin said, with a shrug. "They opened right up."

"That was convenient," Sirius said, as we walked up to them now. Each door was over ten feet wide, and nearly twice as tall. Spying a metal ring set in the door, Sirius banged it several times, but there was no response.

"I guess he doesn't want his picture taken again," Sirius muttered. He looked back at Dumbledore and me. "So, how do we get in?"

My patience was beginning to wear thin. "I'll do it," I said, and walked up, putting my hand on the knocker. My essence flowed into and through it, permeating the wood and metal (that weren't really wood and metal, but Grindelwald's perceptions of them) of the door, and the black stone walls supporting them (that wasn't really stone, either).

Grindelwald wasn't actively resisting, he was simply ignoring any attempt at communicating with him. Even though the door looked as though it massed tons, I was able to pull it open easily. "He's inside," I said, "and I think he knows we're here. He just doesn't care."

"What happens when he _does_ care?" Sirius wanted to know, eyeing the door I'd opened as he walked inside with the others.

"We cannot be harmed," Dumbledore said as we walked through the entrance hall, to the stairway leading to the first floor. "At least, not physically, since we are no longer physical. But I must caution you all: Gellert was a master at manipulation, and though he showed signs of remorse for his misdeeds, later in his life, the very presence of this tower informs us that he has not completely recanted his crimes. I suggest that you do not allow anything he says to upset you."

We climbed several flights of stairs leading toward the top floor of the prison, listening to our footfalls echoing throughout the building. It seemed to be completely empty, though I had sensed Grindelwald's presence when I touched the door.

When we arrived on the topmost floor, I turned instinctively down a corridor leading toward the outside edge of the tower. If this tower was arranged as the story had implied, there would be a barred window in Grindelwald's room, the window Voldemort would have entered to find him. We approached the end of the corridor, where a heavy wooden door stood before us. It was unlocked. I pulled it open and stepped inside, followed by Dumbledore and the others.

The room was not very big, perhaps fifteen by fifteen feet. Across the room from the door was the barred window; beneath it was the rude bench Grindelwald had been seated on in Colin's picture. Off to one side was a dusty bunk, a blanket thrown across it. Opposite it was a small table with a single chair and a pitcher and basin for water. These were probably images that were familiar to Grindelwald, from his time in Nuremgard; he had no need of either the bed or pitcher, unless he wanted to sleep or drink.

Grindelwald himself was seated with legs crossed on the floor in the middle of the room, facing us, but not seeming to notice that we were there. He looked the same as in the picture: a thin, emaciated man, with wisps of white hair and beard, his eyes sunken and staring. His arms were resting on his legs, and I could see them shaking; whether from the cold of the place (which, ironically, was of his own doing) or some other reasons, I could not tell. I was not impressed; it was hard to see how this old man would even be capable of talking to us, much less solving the problem of how to help me return to the living world.

Dumbledore appeared discomfited by Grindelwald's appearance. "Colin, will you bring the chair over, please?" he said, pointing to the chair next to the table. "Sirius, will you and James help him into the chair, please?"

Sirius and I lifted him easily, placing him in the chair. Grindelwald didn't resist, but he didn't help, either; he was impassive as we sat him in the chair. Dumbledore leaned down until they were eye-to-eye. "Gellert," he said softly. "It's Albus. Albus Dumbledore."

Grindelwald's eyes slowly found Dumbledore's. He blinked several times, finally seeming to register that we were there with him. "Albus? Is that really you?"

"Yes," Dumbledore nodded. "Do you remember me?"

"Of course I remember you, _schwuler Junge_," Grindelwald sneered.

"Mind your tongue, old man!" Sirius snapped, but Dumbledore put up a hand to keep him from continuing.

"That was a long time ago, Gellert," he said softly. "And what was done, is done and over with. Now, I've come to ask your advice —"

"My _advice_?" Grindelwald looked up at him, his rheumy old eyes suddenly hard with anger. "You didn't want any advice the day you beat me and took the Elder Wand for yourself, leaving me alive and humiliated!"

"The what?" Colin said, not understanding.

"The Elder Wand?" Sirius said, who _did_ understand, apparently. "You had the Elder Wand and Albus beat you _anyway_?" He looked at Dumbledore in disbelief. "And _you_! You had the _Elder Wand_ and you never told anyone about it?"

"It's not important now, Gellert," Dumbledore said dismissively, ignoring Sirius's astonishment. "But it had to be done then, to protect the people you would have destroyed. The Muggle dictator of Germany had destroyed his country and destroyed himself, in his mad bid for world domination. Your plan, to transform dead German soldiers into Inferi, would have exposed the Wizarding world to the Muggles and forced us and them into a conflict that could have torn the world apart."

"It would have worked, Albus," Grindelwald whispered. "We could have done it together, even then, after four decades of enmity between us."

"It could never have worked," Dumbledore said flatly. "I wanted glory, not world conquest. I wanted the recognition of my peers, not the fear of huddled masses and terrorized Muggles. I wanted —" Dumbledore bit off his final remark.

"I know what you wanted," Grindelwald muttered. "Wasn't going to happen. I was trying to make history, and you were worried about your love life."

"Not true," Dumbledore disagreed. "I wanted to bring about the greater good — but for _everyone_, not just purebloods."

"You've made quite a habit of going against everyone in your life, haven't you, Albus?" Grindelwald said derisively. Your mother and your brother; the friends you'd made in your House — purebloods all, I understand — and other Houses as well; your government, that pleaded with you for decades to stop me; and finally, me." He looked away. "Now, get out. I don't need _you_. I've got someone now, who appreciates me for _me_."

"There is no one else here, Gellert," Dumbledore shook his head. "You are alone, except for us."

"Oh, don't speak so hastily, Bumblebore," a voice behind us said, sneering.

We turned around, and both Colin and Sirius exclaimed, "_YOU_!"

I recognized the woman standing in the doorway as well: tall, with long black hair and dark, heavy-lidded eyes. Her thin mouth was twisted into a sneering smile as she reacted to Sirius's astonishment. "Hello, cousin," she said to Sirius, walking slowly into the room. She spared Colin a glance. "Didn't I kill you, too, little man?" she asked him, with a coquettish laugh. Colin, wide-eyed with astonishment, could say nothing in reply.

"Bellatrix," Dumbledore finally spoke her name. "I confess I have wondered, occasionally, where you might be. Have you managed to locate your former Dark Lord yet?"

Bellatrix laughed: the sound was that of unleashed madness. "Even better, Albus — I've located _your_ Dark Lord! Gellert and I have become fast friends in our time together." She walked to one side of the room, passing by Colin, who backed away, giving her room, and stood beside Grindelwald, putting a pale, long-fingered hand on his shoulder. Grindelwald smiled slightly at her touch. "Now, as much as I would enjoy discussing old times with you and Sirius, Albus, I believe you heard him tell you to leave."

"This doesn't concern you, Bellatrix," Sirius said flatly. "You may still hate anyone and everyone having anything to do with death of your precious Dark Lord —"

"And what would you know of it, cousin?" Bellatrix laughed derisively. "You died two years before the Dark Lord conquered the Ministry and Hogwarts! Even if I died from a foul blow by that blood traitor bitch, he went on to destroy Harry Potter!"

"Is that what you think?" I asked her, my temper rising. "I saw that fight, Bellatrix — you were the one who'd been killing children and Muggles. You were the one who lost, fair and square. And so did Voldemort."

Bellatrix's eyes narrowed. "Liar," she sneered. "The Dark Lord _won_. I know it!" She spread her arms wide, her expression exultant. "_He is not here_! I would know it if he were! Therefore, he is still _alive_!"

"He's not alive," I said, with finality. "He was barely alive when he faced Harry, after Molly dispatched you — his soul had been torn so many times there was only a tiny bit of it still inside his body." At her look of skepticism, I added, "Surely you knew about his Horcruxes, Bellatrix? He must've told at least _you_, his favorite lackey."

"That's not true!" Bellatrix snarled. "Even if his Horcruxes were destroyed, those fragments of his soul would return to his body! He told me so — confided in _me_, his most loyal, most worthy, follower!"

"No, Bellatrix," Dumbledore shook his white-haired head once, sadly. "Voldemort deceived even you, it seems. When a Horcrux is destroyed, the soul it houses goes either into the next world, or in certain rare cases, into the object that destroyed its former receptacle. If you have not sensed him, it is because none of the fragments of his soul have made it here."

Bellatrix screamed. It was a terrible sound, filled with pain and despair. And without the need to breath, it seemed to go on forever, until finally I could take no more of it. I stepped forward, stopping in front of her, and slapped her across the face. Her scream cut off, and Bellatrix staggered back, looking at me in shock.

"You — hurt — me!" she cried, sounding like a small child that has just touched a flame for the first time, and been burned for her trouble. She touched her cheek, where my hand had hit her. "You can't _do_ that!"

"Well, I just did," I said matter-of-factly. I turned to look at the others. "I didn't know how much longer I could have taken —" I stopped. Dumbledore and the others were staring at me, their expressions of astonishment equal to Bellatrix's.

"You actually _hurt_ her," Sirius said, his tone somewhere between outrage and admiration. "That's not possible."

"Of course it is," I said, not understanding what he meant. "I just did it!"

"No, James," Dumbledore said patiently, though he seemed as shocked as the rest, "what Sirius meant was, none of us can feel pain involuntarily, or be harmed by anything that happens here. All the pain we feel here — sadness, loss, regret — is by our own choosing. What you have just done is…unprecedented."

I looked back at Bellatrix. "Well, it's not as if I wanted to _hurt_ her — I just meant to stop that damned screaming." Bellatrix had a look of wonderment on her face, as if she still couldn't believe that she'd actually felt pain once again.

I turned to Dumbledore. "I think that must prove my point — I don't belong here. That's why I want to get back to the world of the living."

"There is no going back," Bellatrix whispered, still holding her cheek and staring at me. "Once you're dead, you're _dead_. I've tried…"

"That's ironic," I said coldly. "That you, who've sent so many here during your own life, should be so unhappy now that you're here."

"B-but she's right," Colin stammered. He'd stayed behind us until now, seemingly afraid of Bellatrix noticing him. Oddly, however, seeing her in pain had brought him forward. "You can't ever go back, James. Why would you even _want_ to?"

"That's my business," I said, shortly. I turned to look at Grindelwald, who was now sitting upright in his chair, watching what had just occurred with avid interest. "Dumbledore thought you would be able to help me figure out a way to return to the living world. So far, though, all I've seen you capable of doing is wallowing in self-pity and loathing. Do you have anything else to offer me?"

Grindelwald's eyes (I saw they were blue, now that he was taking an interest in his surroundings) looked me over carefully. "You'll have to offer _me_ something more than remonstration, boy. What's your business back in the world of the living? Why should I help you try to return there?"

He and I stared at each other for a long moment. Then I stepped forward once again and slapped him across the face. The stone walls amplified the sound as Grindelwald's head snapped to one side. Everyone except Bellatrix lurched forward.

"Stop that!" Sirius demanded. "You're hurting him!"

"He's an old man!" Colin said, outraged.

"James, we cannot allow you to hurt anyone again," Dumbledore said, taking hold of my arm with one hand. I could tell from the lack of pressure in his grip that none of them, even working together, could stop me.

But I'd already made my point. "Albus," I said, giving him an impatient look, "I still don't know why you thought Grindelwald here would be any help to me. He seems weak and useless. What was the point of coming here to see him?"

Dumbledore and Grindelwald looked at one another; Grindelwald's expression was a mixture of expectation and uncertainty, as if he was just as curious to hear Dumbledore's reasons as I was. "While Gellert was attending Durmstrang, he wrote several seminal papers dealing with the existence and purpose of death," Dumbledore said, not taking his eyes off of Grindelwald's. "I read them during my final year at Hogwarts, and considered them to be quite illuminating and comprehensive.

"Unfortunately, when he was expelled, the Institute withdrew his articles from circulation, which involved the Vanishing of all copies of the periodicals they appeared in," Dumbledore continued. "It was primarily that impetus that led me to develop the Pensieve, to allow me to review my memories more comprehensively than simple recollection allows."

"You created the Pensive — because of _my_ articles?" Grindelwald said, looking at Dumbledore with surprise. Dumbledore nodded, solemnly. "Albus — I'm genuinely touched. I had thought those articles lost forever."

"As it happened," Dumbledore continued, "the bulk of my memories concerning those articles were still in my Pensieve when I…passed on. I had intended to return them to my head before my untimely demise," he added, ruefully. "Unfortunately, my demise was more untimely than I anticipated." Dumbledore turned to me. "That is why I had us seek out Gellert Grindelwald."

"That makes sense," I turned to Grindelwald. "Now, I guess it's up to whether you will help me figure out a way out of here."

"If I can," Grindelwald muttered, rubbing his cheek where I'd slapped him. "And if I decide it's worth it, to be rid of you."

**A/N: _Schwuler Junge_ means "gay boy." Updated 2/5/2012 from "Schwul Junge" after being advised that "schwuler" is the correct word.**


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"I'm starting to get frustrated," I said, folding my arms across my chest as I stared down at Gellert Grindelwald. "Nobody's going to be happy if I get frustrated."

No one spoke. I turned and looked at the others — Albus Dumbledore, Sirius Black, Colin Creevy and, off to one side, Bellatrix Black Lestrange who, from the way she stood near Grindelwald, appeared to have attached herself to the old Dark wizard.

Dumbledore was giving me a look of solemn disapproval, as if he'd expected better of me. Sirius and Colin had looks of concern and fear, respectively, on their faces, and Bellatrix — well, the look on her face was one of anticipation, of growing excitement. I wondered what she expected me to do.

Finally, Dumbledore broke the silence. "James, I'm sure Gellert has no real intention of frustrating you. As I said earlier, he merely desires to be left alone. I'm sure he will be able to help —"

"Albus," Grindelwald said, wearily, "you've always had an annoying habit of saying things that piss me off. Don't presume to speak my mind for me."

Dumbledore almost managed to look contrite. "My apologies, Gellert. I did make the hasty assumption that you would have the answers to James' questions about the nature of death, and how he might escape this reality and return to the living world."  
Grindelwald forced a wheezing laugh between his lips, grinning at his former friend. I could see his yellowed teeth, the gums grayish and seemingly barely able to hold them in his head. "Well played, _mein Freund_! I sometimes forget that you can be nearly as manipulative as I!

"But it's not me you should be trying to control — it's our enigmatic visitor, here," Grindelwald waved a bony hand toward me. "We don't want to _frustrate_ him, after all."

"Yes, frustrate him," Bellatrix suddenly said, stepping toward us with a wild gleam in her eye. "I want to see what he will do."

"No, you don't," I said, warningly. It was a bluff; I had no intention of harming anyone (at least, not permanently), but the idea of Bellatrix getting what she wanted, in any way, shape or form, gnawed at me. "You, most of all, Bellatrix, should be wary of pissing me off."

"Or you'll do what?" she sneered, taunting me. "Hurt me? I've taken more pain from the Dark Lord than you could imagine — wonderful, joyous pain!" she laughed wildly, her black eyes glowing with excitement and danger. "Or will you kill me, do you think? Gellert has told me it's impossible for any of us to die here!" She rushed at me, skidding to a halt with her nose only inches from mine. "I would like to see you try it! Kill me, if you can, little man!" She slammed her fists into my chest. I hardly felt them. "KILL ME!!"

I gestured, a mere flick of my hand, and Bellatrix flew, screaming, across the room, slamming into the wall and falling to the floor in a crumpled heap.

"Stop it!" Colin cried, running to her side. He bent over her, examining her carefully. The others were frozen in shocked silence.

"She's still alive," Colin said after a few moments, looking at Dumbledore.

"Of course she is," I said blandly. "It's impossible for anyone to die here, isn't it?"

"You're turning out to be a bigger monster than either Grindelwald or my cousin," Sirius snarled at me, his fists clenched in anger.

"Not really, Sirius," I retorted, "but I'm tired of being jerked around, and that's what it feels like this joker is doing." I turned to look at Dumbledore. "If either you or Grindelwald know of a way to help me leave this reality, tell me, and I'll go and won't bother you again."

"And what if they _don't_ know of a way?" Sirius demanded, heatedly. "Will you torture them until they break? Will you force them to help you, like some mad, evil god? Will you turn this heaven into a hell, just to satisfy your personal desire?"

"Why shouldn't he?" hissed a female voice, and we turned to where Bellatrix lay, still crumpled on the floor. She was looking up at me, and I could see madness flashing in her eyes, along with a look of adoration on her face. "He IS a god!" She looked at Sirius. "And there is no good, or evil, cousin — only power, and those who are unafraid to use it."

"Quoting your former boyfriend, Bellatrix?" I sneered. I'd had about enough of this cat-and-mouse game that Grindelwald seemed to be playing, to amuse himself. "Do you want to see some power — a real taste of what I can do?"

"Yes," she said, eagerly.

"No!" Dumbledore said loudly, more agitated than I'd ever seen him act since coming here. "James, you do not need to prove yourself to us! We are well aware of what you're capable of."

"I don't think you are," I disagreed. The floor suddenly lurched beneath us, and everyone standing stumbled and nearly fell, except for me.

"What the hell happened?" Colin shouted excitedly, looking around wildly.

"It felt like the entire tower shifted," Dumbledore said. He looked at me with grave concern written across his face. "James, is this your doing?"

"Yes," I said, calmly. "The ground floor of this building is gone — I made it vanish."

"That's impossible!" Grindelwald croaked. He was on the floor, staring up at me, furious; his chair had toppled over and he lay next to Bellatrix, who was laughing maniacally. "Shut up, woman!" he snapped at her, and then turned to me again. "In this place, our thoughts, our perceptions, _are_ reality. This tower is as real as I decide it is!"

"No, it's not," I said, my tone matter-of-fact. The floor lurched again. "There goes the first floor."

"What are you trying to prove, James?" Dumbledore asked, desperation creeping into his normally placid, controlled voice. "You've already shown that you can hurt us, even against our will. It's possible you could even — somehow — kill us."

"But I'm not going to do that, Albus," I pointed out. The floor lurched once more. "Oops, I did it again. No," I continued, "I'm not going to kill anyone — but getting rid of your _perceptions_, now those are a different story.

"What will happen, do you think, if all the buildings begin disappearing? You don't need them to survive, of course, but what about the fields and meadows, the mountains and beaches, the land and the sea?" The room shook again, and again. "You each perceive and define the environment around you, mostly by implicit mutual consent, but what happens when all of your perceptions are overridden — by mine?"

The room disappeared, and we were all standing (or sprawled) on the rocky ground we'd found the tower built upon.

Sirius recovered the quickest of the lot. He looked around at the barren expanse around us, then glared at me in what he probably felt was righteous anger. "I was right — you _are_ insane! An insane, evil god, here to torture us because you've got nothing else to do for the next eon or two, is that it?"

"Say it is!" I looked down. Bellatrix had crawled over and was grasping at my feet, supplicating herself before me. "Say you are a god, here to bring pain, exquisite pain, to the unbelievers!"

"Bellatrix, get off me," I said, leaning over and hauling her to her feet by one arm. I pushed her away, not very roughly, and she fell back, looking at me with rapt anticipation.

I turned to Grindelwald, who had scrambled to his feet with surprising alacrity for such an ancient, frail-looking man. "We had better come to a meeting of the minds, and soon, Grindelwald. All I really want from you is a way out of here. When I first got here, the people I met were all getting along famously — but now, the closer I've come to you, I've met more and more negative people. It's like this place —" I gestured toward our surroundings "— does something to you, to make you act the way you are."

"It is likely," Dumbledore put in. "This reality has regions that can influence our thoughts and how we feel and act, just as we can affect this reality with our thoughts. We are drawn to the regions that we perceive as most comfortable to us. Normally, we stay in the calm, peaceful, cooperative regions. But there are places —" Dumbledore spread his arms slightly, to indicate the barren, rock-strewn area where we were now "— where discord and selfishness thrive, as a balance." He arched an eyebrow. "It has obviously had an impact on all our choices and decisions, since we've come here."

"It shouldn't be able to affect _me_," I objected.

"And yet, it has, James," Dumbledore pointed out, diffidently. "Your actions since coming here have been increasing uncooperative and selfish, would you not agree?"

"I — uh…" I paused. I couldn't deny that I'd become more aggressive and easily annoyed by things said and done here. But now, realizing that I was susceptible to the influences of this region of the reality we were in, those thoughts seemed to drain out of me. I'd been acting like an utter jerk. In fact, _exactly_ like a jerk with god-like powers and no qualms about using them for my own selfish needs.

"…Uh…yeah," I finally agreed. "I see your point." A room reappeared around us. However, it wasn't the cramped cell that we'd found Grindelwald in a short time ago, but the Entrance Hall of Hogwarts Castle. The others were looking around in surprise, except for Dumbledore, who had a look of quiet satisfaction on his fact.

"My way of saying, you taught me something, Albus," I said to him, waving a hand around the room. "Perhaps you and Gellert can continue the lesson, if both you and he are agreeable with that."

Dumbledore and Grindelwald looked at one another. Grindelwald, in fact, looked like a new man — literally. His appearance had become considerably younger; he now appeared to be middle-aged — his hair was fuller and shoulder-length, though still as white as Dumbledore's. His beard, likewise, had filled in and hung down nearly to his waist. Dumbledore gave his old friend an appraising look, then turned to me. "I believe an accommodation can be reached, James."

Sirius, who hadn't spoken in some time, said, "I hope you will allow me to sit in on this lecture."

"And me!" Colin piped up as well. He looked eagerly at Sirius, then jumped a bit as Bellatrix, standing on his other side, snorted as she viewed the scene with a look of chagrin on her pale features.

Gellert smiled. "Let the lesson begin."

We went into the Great Hall — it was the most familiar place to everyone there, except Grindelwald, and he didn't object. We all took seats at the end of the first table (which, I recalled, would have been the Slytherin House table) except for Bellatrix, who remained standing against a nearby wall. Grindelwald stood at the end of the table.

"The articles I wrote, back in my Durmstrang days, were based initially on interviews I took with several ghosts at the institute," he began. "I collected their impressions of their deaths, as well as gleaning several other accounts from the school's library.

"In most cases, the primary motivation that caused them to become ghosts was a sense of incompletion," Grindelwald continued. I noted that all of us around the table, Dumbledore included, were listening with rapt attention. In contrast Bellatrix, standing nearby, was giving most of her attention to me, making me a trifle uneasy. I wasn't afraid of anything she might do; it was already established that none of them could hurt me, and everyone present (except, perhaps, for Bellatrix herself) seem to have no inclination toward doing so.

"Other motivations expressed by the ghosts I interviewed were: fear of the unknown, or what might happen after physical death; a desire for revenge or retribution on someone still living, perhaps the person who had caused their death; and in at least one case, a desire to make right some injustice the deceased perceived as intolerable.

"My _own_ motivation in doing this was twofold." Grindelwald began pacing back and forth in front of us. "First, I wanted some insight into why a wizard might prefer to remain earthbound, even beyond death.

"Second, I wanted to understand the limits of the Horcrux." Colin looked startled, and Grindelwald chuckled. "You needn't act so surprised, Colin — I'm sure you've heard of them."

But Colin shook his head, looking confused, and Grindelwald shrugged and continued. "Maybe your education at Hogwarts wasn't as extensive as you believed it was. A Horcrux is an object that holds part of a wizard's soul, keeping it bound to the material universe. Once you've created a Horcrux, you cannot permanently die until that Horcrux is destroyed."

"Holy cow!" Colin exclaimed, looking around at the others sitting there. "That would've been awful handy if I'd known about it before —" his eyes flicked momentarily to Bellatrix, who was smiling cruelly at him "— er, well, before I d-died!" He stared at Dumbledore. "How come we never heard about this — this Horcrux in Defense Against the Dark Arts classes?"

"Because, Colin," Dumbledore gently explained, "in order to create a Horcrux you have to murder someone."

"Oh." Colin looked nonplussed. "Well, never mind, then."

"Anyway," Grindelwald continued, "a paradox of the Horcrux is that it is possible to create one out of almost any object — rings, chairs, whatever whatnots or gewgaws you like, even living objects like owls or deer, but the most durable Horcruxes are inanimate objects, which normally would never contain a living soul."

"I have read," Sirius said, slowly, "that the Horcrux Charm endows the object it is cast upon with a kind of 'pseudo-life,' which allows the soul to reside within. The soul is able to cling to the object as long as the spell lasts — which, as far as we know, is forever — until magic powerful enough to disrupt the spell is used against the object."

"It sounds like someone spent time in his family's library," Bellatrix sneered, applauding softly as she walked forward to the table, stopping in front of her cousin. "Well done, Sirius," she smirked at him. "It's too bad you didn't live long enough to help Harry Potter and his little friends in their grand adventure, that final year."

"Sirius, you _knew_ about Horcruxes?" Dumbledore asked, looking at him in surprise. "Did — did James and Lily know?" There was a measure of anxiety in his voice.

Sirius didn't respond immediately. Finally, he shook his head. "No, I couldn't tell them that I knew magic that Dark. I was — ashamed of myself for searching out that knowledge." Bellatrix snorted disdain.

Sirius glared at her. "I suppose you think it's amusing for someone to be ashamed that he and everyone in his family were brainwashed into thinking everyone else was inferior to us in every way!"

"Brainwashed?" Bellatrix laughed derisively. "I reveled in it! They _are_ inferior — spineless, cowardly, afraid to take control of their lives and do what they want with it, unlike the Dark Lord! He showed us all how life should be lived — in control, and taking whatever you want!"

"Can we get back to my lecture?" Grindelwald said, in a bored tone.

"Oh, _screw_ your bloody lecture!" Bellatrix snapped at him. "You useless sack of dung, to think how much time I wasted waiting for you to get off your bony arse and take charge of this place, and _here_ —" she pointed at me "— is someone a bloody million times more powerful than you!"

She looked directly at me. "Why would you want to leave here, when you could be in control of _everything_?! Open your eyes!" She walked over to the entrance of the Great Hall and opened one of the doors, then looked back at me. "When you're ready, James, find me, and we can make this place our own." She gave me a deep, smoldering look. "I can make it worth your while," she said, and left.

There was silence for several moments. Then, "I think I'm going to bloody vomit," Sirius said, weakly.

"That was an interesting attempt at seduction," I said, shaking my head and looking at Dumbledore in disbelief.

"Bellatrix obviously has had issues letting go of her argumentation techniques from her past life," Dumbledore commented matter-of-factly.

"That was always her way," Sirius shrugged. "She always offered herself to the most powerful wizard around her. Old habits die hard, I suppose."

Grindelwald took up his lecture again. He rambled on for some time about his various papers, the experiments that he tried with death and the dying. After a while, Sirius began to look numb, and I thought Colin was going to faint (if that was even possible, here); Dumbledore just listened calmly. Had he really read all of these things in Grindelwald's papers, back in the day? It was some pretty dark stuff, I can tell you. Inferi, death curses (other than the _Avada Kedavra_), and also, surprisingly, life and healing spells as well.

It was pretty easy to see why Durmstrang had kicked him out, too, after he'd published these papers. Durmstrang Institute was known for playing rather fast and loose with magical ethics, but Grindelwald had pointed out how Muggle wars could provide corpses for armies of Inferi, armies that non-magical people would have had no defense against. Hell, even most _magical_ people had a hard time defending themselves against them! And an Inferi army is self-recruiting — every person who died at the hands of an Inferius could become one themselves. It was not hard to imagine how Grindelwald's undead armies could have spread out from Europe, into Russia and Scandinavia, then across the ocean to the United States and South America. Any magical communities that opposed him could be obliterated as well, by sheer numbers. I allowed myself a small shudder, inwardly, at the thought of what might have happened if Dumbledore had agreed to help Grindelwald with his army of Darkness, and his dreams of world domination by wizard, for "the greater good." Between the two of them, they may well have been unstoppable.

But whatever relevance all of this information might have had in getting me back to the world of the living, I wasn't seeing it. Neither was Dumbledore; judging from the expression on his face, he was finding all of this somewhat boring.

I finally put up a hand, deciding a short break would do us all some good. Grindelwald, however, simply kept on talking, even after I cleared my throat a couple of times. The third time I cleared my throat, a goblet of water appeared before me.

"Funny," I said, tipping over the goblet and startling Colin into pushing himself away from the table. The goblet and water disappeared before spilling. "How about a break?" I asked, as Grindelwald gave me a baleful stare for interrupting him.

Grindelwald shrugged. "If you need one," he muttered, waving an airy hand at all of us. A small hourglass appeared on the table, and Grindelwald turned it so the sand began falling from the top half. "I'll begin again when the sands finish falling. Anyone who wants to listen further should be back by then."

We stood and I walked away, into the Entrance Hall, glad to have a few moments alone. It didn't seem like I'd been alone since I came here with Dumbledore, some interminable time before. Even now, since we'd found Grindelwald and convinced him to talk, it didn't seem like I was any closer to returning to the living world than I was when I first got here.

I replayed the moments again in my mind: I had followed Harry's final thoughts, which had formed a bridge between the living world and the "waiting area," or whatever it was, where Harry talked with Dumbledore after the first battle with Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest. Harry had also seen a flayed, crying baby there, a baby that was Voldemort's soul, which had also been cast into that place by the _Avada Kedavra_ curse. When Harry went back to his body, he took his final thoughts with him, breaking the link between the living world and the "after" world. It seemed like, if I could recreate the situation got me here in the first place, I could return to the living world, into someone's body, and from there I could remove myself from that body and go my own way.

What I did not know was how to recreate that situation. Perhaps I could return to that place where I had entered this reality and wait until someone crossed over, then use their thoughts to return to the living world? Of course, I had no idea how long I would have to wait.

"Here you are, James." I turned at the sound of Dumbledore's voice. The former headmaster of Hogwarts walked slowly toward me, his hands held behind him. "Has anything Gellert said invoked any ideas in you yet?"

I shook my head. "He seems to enjoy sharing all of his past exploits in the Dark Arts, though," I commented. Dumbledore nodded.

"It's strange, I think, that I overlooked all of that when I first met him," Albus said. His eyes looked unfocused, as if all of his attention was directed inwards. "Perhaps it was his wild, happy demeanor, at the time — I had just returned home from Hogwarts, to tend to my mother's funeral, and care for my sister, Ariana, when I met him. He seemed so carefree, so happy; it was difficult to believe he was the same person that had written those articles on death and darkness."

Dumbledore blinked, then looked at me. "But forgive my ramblings, James, this is doing little to help you." He took me by the arm and turned so we were facing away from the doors of the Great Hall. "I regret that nothing Gellert has said thus far has sparked any ideas for returning you to life," he said softly.

"I've been thinking about it," I replied. "What if I returned to 'King's Cross,' where Harry and I entered this reality, and waited for someone to cross over, then go back using their thoughts?"

"It's very unlikely that you could do so," Dumbledore shook his head slowly. "You would have to be where they arrived, at the instant of their death, and would have mere moments before they disconnected completely from their former reality. Harry's circumstances were very nearly unique — he was joined by his blood to Voldemort, the blood Voldemort stole in order to revive himself, and by the final Horcrux that bound Voldemort to the living world."

Dumbledore allowed himself a small smile. "It was almost beyond hoping that Voldemort would use Harry's blood to revive himself; that link is what kept Harry from passing over completely when Voldemort cursed him, in the Forbidden Forest."

I sighed. "That link no longer exists, does it?"

"Oh, no," Dumbledore shook his head emphatically. "With the destruction of his final Horcrux, Voldemort became fully mortal once again. His death was final."

"So where is he?" I asked once again. "Bellatrix doesn't think he's here, unless he's hiding from her, somehow."

"He is not hiding," Dumbledore stated, flatly. "He is simply incapable of entering this existence, I believe."

I pondered his comment for several moments before saying, "Because his soul was torn into so many pieces?"

"I believe so," Dumbledore said. "Voldemort — Tom Riddle — committed many more than seven murders in his life. Each one of them ravaged his soul, tearing it apart more and more. As he kept placing pieces within more and more Horcruxes, and hiding them in places around England, he further weakened the fabric of his very existence. Remorse for such deeds is the only emotion that heals the soul, and it is a personally painful and humbling experience. I doubt that Tom would have any truck with such emotions. It is therefore almost impossible to speculate on the state of his soul, especially since at least one part of it may still be within the Sword of Gryffindor; it is possible for certain powerful artifacts to draw the soul fragment into them as they destroy the Horcrux, rather than releasing it."

"I think you mentioned that before," I remembered. "But wouldn't that make the Sword of Gryffindor a Horcrux itself?"

"No," Dumbledore said. "The Horcrux Charm was never cast on the Sword of Gryffindor, so the soul would not be linked with the pseudo-life of the spell, as Sirius mentioned. Instead, it would become part of the sword itself, making it an even more powerful a weapon."

"Very fascinating," I said blandly, "but it's still not helping me find a way home."

"We are trying the best we can, James," Dumbledore said, looking very serious. "Remember — until Harry was able to re-enter his own body, a body you had kept alive for over twenty years after he had passed over, the idea of anyone returning from death was impossible."

"The Resurrection Stone," I reminded him.

"The Resurrection Stone cannot restore a soul's life, it can only allow them to appear to the holder of the Stone itself," Dumbledore argued. "They are visible but intangible, and very often they come unwillingly, because they know that there can be no true togetherness, only a tantalizing glimpse of what they once were."

"All I can say is, you're not giving me much hope, Albus," I said diffidently.

"You are here, capable of thought, with all eternity before you," Dumbledore pointed out. "There is always hope, James."

I shook my head, refusing to be comforted. "Tell Grindelwald to start without me," I said, walking to the entrance of the school.

"Where are you going?" Albus asked.

"Nowhere, apparently," I said, with a trace of bitterness in my voice. When Dumbledore looked unhappy with that response, I added, "I'll be out on the grounds, somewhere. I need to do some thinking, alone." I turned and walked outside.

I had created the entire grounds of Hogwarts, including the stone wall that ran along the north and west edges, enclosing it, from Harry's memories of the place. I walked along the path leading to the gates, to the north, but soon veered westward, toward the Quidditch pitch. I walked in the front gates, looking around at the stands and the goals at either end, wondering a bit, as I had in the past, at why anyone would seriously try to play a game like this. It seemed overly dangerous and a bit ridiculous; but then, I had never been a sports-oriented person, so perhaps it was just my biases at work here.

I walked up into one of the stands and sat down. I was beginning to think that I was going to be here for the foreseeable future, unless I wanted to camp out in the "waiting area" and watch for newly-deceased wizards. At least, I had never seen a non-wizard here yet, so I assumed they were the only types of humans who came here after they died. That sort of begged the question, I supposed, of where normal humans, or house-elves, or goblins went when they died. And where would someone like Hagrid, a half-giant, end up when he died? Not to mention the centaurs, like Firenze, and the veela, and vampires…

"Have you been considering my proposal?" The voice came from right next to my ear, but I didn't jump or start. I'd either been more distracted by my thoughts than I realized, or Bellatrix was a very stealthy woman. Now that I was aware of her, I could feel her oozing sexuality — no mean feat for a non-material being.

I turned and looked into her dark eyes. This close to her, I could feel her desire, and yes, it attracted me. Bellatrix was very beautiful now: her pale skin was smooth, no longer lined by the ravages of Azkaban. Her hair was black and silky, shining with highlights that seemed to almost sparkle in the non-sunlight we sat under. Her lips were red and full, and her breasts, so close to me, were full and inviting. Yes, she knew her way around a seduction, Bellatrix did. Too bad she was such a bitch.

"You mean, that proposal where you pretend to be interested in me, in return for allowing you to try and manipulate me into taking over this reality for your own, selfish purposes?" I asked, dryly. "_That_ proposal?"

Her expression went from seductive to pouting in a moment. "You're a fool," she said, giving me a look of, not loathing, but deep disappointment. "All the power you possess, yet you're afraid to use it! You're even afraid of me!" She pushed her bosom against my chest, rubbing against me shamelessly.

My hand caught the mane of long, black hair flowing behind her, and I pulled her away from me, to look her in the eye. "Not afraid of you, Bellatrix," I said, and pressed my lips against hers. She threw her arms around my neck and moved against me again, this time in earnest response to my kiss.

_What was I doing_? I let go of her and stood, wanting to get away from her. This place must be affecting me again. "I can't give you what you want," I told her. "Leave me alone."

"You know I'm right about you, then," she said, a grin of triumph on her face. "You want what I want — you just lack the courage to take it for yourself!"

"You're mistaking compassion for cowardice," I told her. "I'm not going to destroy the happiness, the peace, of this reality just because I'm stuck here, or because you want to play little tin goddess."

"That _is_ cowardice!" she snapped. "This place could be so much more interesting if someone like you were running it! As it is now —" an expression of disgust crossed her face "— it's like a milk-soaked piece of toast: edible, but not very interesting, or enjoyable."

"I sometimes wonder," I said, in mock amazement, "how your parents managed not to murder you as a child."

Her face changed. For a moment she seemed to be far away, seeing something in her mind's eye. Then she was back in the present. "They had their moments," she remarked, and her tone was flat and expressionless. "But murder? Hardly. Besides, I was Daddy's little girl — Narcissa was too much like our mother, emotionally, and my other sister — well, she proved to be a bitter disappointment for all concerned. At least I got rid of that shape-shifting brat of hers, before I…" her voice trailed off.

I was looking at Bellatrix in a different light. The phrase she'd used — "Daddy's little girl" — could it be a reference to physical or sexual abuse? "Did your father ever…hurt you, Bellatrix?" I asked, quietly.

She looked at me in revolted surprise. "What do you mean? No! My father loved me!"

"Maybe in more than one way," I suggested, looking at her.

"NO!" she shrieked. "Get out of my head!" She clutched at her head, squeezing her eyes shut, but I hadn't read her mind, either through Leglimency or more effective methods.

"Bellatrix," I said, taking hold of her arms and moving them down to her sides. She let me do so but kept her eyes closed. "Whatever happened between you and your father, or your sisters, is in the past now. You can let go of it."

She was actually crying now; tears were squeezing past her closed eyelids and running down her cheeks. "You don't understand," she whispered. "My father loved me most of all. Even more than he loved my mother. I was his first child…"

She opened her eyes and looked at me pleadingly. "Kill me. I don't want to think about the past anymore."

So her attempt to goad me into killing her earlier had been in earnest. I could almost feel pity for her, as much of a monster as she still was in my eyes. "I can't kill you, Bellatrix. It's supposed to be impossible to die here, remember?"

"Then stop me from thinking!" she begged urgently. "I don't want to think anymore, about any of this!"

"I don't think I can do that, either," I said. "I'm not even sure if we can sleep here. You can no more stop thinking here than you can stop —"

I stopped, pondering an idea. "Stop what?" Bellatrix asked, waiting for me to continue. "What were you going to —"

"Come on," I said, taking her by the waist, and imagining myself at the top of the steps of Hogwarts' front entrance. There was a rush of wind, and a moment later we were there. I opened the door and walked inside, pulling her with me.

We entered the Great Hall, where Grindelwald had resumed his lecture on the wit and wisdom of Gellert Grindelwald, Boy Genius. "I think I've got it," I said, releasing Bellatrix and striding up to the table to look at Dumbledore. "Thought," I said to him.

"Thought _what_?" Grindelwald said, annoyed at the interruption.

"Thought itself," I answered, for Dumbledore's benefit. "If this place is immaterial, based on thought alone, then you can no more stop thinking here than you can stop existing."

"That logically follows," Dumbledore concurred. "But I do not see how it helps you, James —"

"I'm not 'thought alone,' Albus," I interrupted, in my haste to get to the point. "When I followed Harry's thought to this place, I altered my essence to match that of my destination. I do that no matter what kind of reality I'm entering — it's second nature for me by now. Automatic.

"But what I didn't expect was that this reality would be quite so different from that of the megaverse — the continuum of material universes that all of the living worlds exist in, Harry Potter universes included. That's why I've been trying to find a connection back to the living world, so I can re-alter my essence once again, to match that of the material universe."

"That doesn't make sense, though," Sirius objected. "You must've known what your body was composed of, when you lived in the material universe. Why can't you just change back now?"

"I probably could," I agreed, but I have no idea where in the universe I'd end up. I could wind up in the middle of a black hole, or a quasar, or something equally unpleasant."

"So what are you telling us?" Grindelwald said impatiently. "Have you figured out a way to get back, or not?"

"And why did you bring _her_ back in here?" Sirius wanted to know, pointing at his cousin, who stood silently by the door, watching us. "Did you decide to take her up on her offer?"

"'No' to both questions," I said, "but I think I'm close on the first one. If I can stop all my thought processes, I think it's possible that I'll drop out of this reality entirely."

"And end up where?" Dumbledore inquired. "We have no idea how our reality corresponds to the living world."

"'Aye, there's the rub,'" I replied, quoting Hamlet. "_Except_," I continued, "in one case: when someone is called by the Resurrection Stone! That is the closest a soul can come to knowing where he is, in the material universe. "

Dumbledore and Grindelwald looked at one another. "It does seem plausible, Gellert," Dumbledore said at last.

"Plausible, yes," Grindelwald argued. "Practical, no. How is our fine friend here going to get someone to call him back to Earth with the Resurrection Stone? From what he's said, only two or three people even knew he was inhabiting the body of Harry Potter, before he left it behind and Harry took it back from him. Why would any of _them_ call him back?"

"One miracle at a time, Gellert," I said. "One miracle at a time."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Sirius leaned over, eyeing his target carefully, moving the stick in his hand back and forth slowly, judging the shot. He knew if he missed, I would have him. I watched him closely, letting him make his move. His hand suddenly jerked forward, and he struck, sending the cue ball into the eight ball, which rolled across the table, banking and heading toward a corner pocket, where it fell in easily for the win.

"Nice shot," I said.

"Had enough yet?" Sirius grinned. He'd just won a best-of-five series of pocket billiards against me and was looking rather smug. "I can do this all day long."

I had no reason to doubt that, but I don't think he realized, even though we were playing "fair" (not willing the balls to move where we wanted them, just letting them obey the normal laws of physics), that I could bring enough skill to bear to sink three or four balls per shot. Even Sirius himself could, if he applied the innate power of his mind to the geometry of the problem. He seemed content, however, to shoot pool "by the seat of his pants," as it were.

I racked the balls again, and Sirius broke, sinking two solids, then dropping in three more balls before barely missing a tricky bank shot.

"Remember, no cheating," he said as he sat down on a nearby stool to watch me take my shots.

"Nothing but skill," I said, lining up my first shot.

"Right," Sirius smirked. "That's why you're losing, mate."

Sirius and I had been shooting pool for some time now, after skittles had gotten boring. And before that, tenpin bowling, Exploding Snap, pinochle, crazy eights, pitch, ping pong, darts, draughts (I would have called it checkers); but we both drew the line at chess.

Some time ago, I had come up with a pretty good idea on how to get back to the living world, or so I thought — I would cease all thought in myself, disassociating my essence completely from this reality, which seemed to be comprised solely of thought. The reason I hadn't tried it yet was that I had no idea where I would end up in the material universe — I could end up inside a black hole or someplace equally unpleasant. I needed a way to find a reference point, which I thought would be possible if I was summoned by the Resurrection Stone. Unfortunately, I had no way of making someone in the living world do that. This had left me at an impasse — I had a way to get home, but no way to implement it.

We'd traveled back to Dumbledore's cottage, where I'd first met Sirius, Harry Potter's godfather, as well as his parents, Lily and James. I decided to kick ideas around in my head for a while, to see if a solution would present itself. In the meantime, Sirius and I had amused ourselves by playing various games on "no cheat mode" — that is, not using any of our abilities to manipulate objects in this reality, but only our natural skill at the games. Of course, my skill levels were fairly high, even without cheating.

Even so, Sirius had kept right up with me. Like everyone else here, he was composed of pure thought, so when he "put his mind" into an activity, he did pretty well with it. I discovered that Sirius was a natural athelete, good at almost any sporting activity. It was surprising that he'd never been on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, when he was at Hogwarts, but when I asked him why not, he'd just shrugged and said that one Marauder on the team had been enough.

James Potter, the Marauder Sirius was referring to, came into the room as I was sinking the fifth ball in my run on the table. "Still playing?" he looked at Sirius, who was sipping at a bottle of butterbeer that had appeared in his hand when he sat down.

"Still winning," Sirius took a long pull at the bottle, draining it, then tossing the bottle to James, who took a sip from the suddenly full again bottle. "You about ready for a game? You can play the winner, Sirius added, pointing at himself.

James shrugged. "I'm not in the mood," he said, in a bored tone. He scratched an ear, giving Sirius a sidelong look, as if he wanted to say something but didn't want to just blurt it out. "I was thinking…"

"I know," Sirius said, a teasing grin on his face, "I can hear the little gears working. Good shot," he muttered as I sank the eight ball, winning the game, then dropped his stick on the table. "So what are you thinking?" he asked James.

"I was thinking, maybe, we could go out where you were and see if we can find Severus —" Sirius rolled his eyes "— well, now that we know where he is, I'd like to get his side of the story on some things."

"Like Albus told us," Sirius repeated patiently, for perhaps the fifth time now, "he'll come to us when he's ready."

James looked unhappy. He turned to me. "What do you think, James?"

"I think you need to be patient," I said, putting my cue stick up in a rack on the wall of Dumbledore's parlor. "Severus Snape probably has some issues to work out before he's ready to meet you, Lily and Sirius again."

We had come across Snape as we were traveling to find Gellert Grindelwald, Dumbledore's old nemesis, whom the former headmaster believed could shed some insight on helping me find a way back to the living world after I'd trapped myself here by letting go of all thoughts tied back to the physical metaverse. Snape, we'd discovered, was getting glimpses into the lives of other people in this reality by having one of his former students, Colin Creevy, take photographs of them and add the pictures to an album Snape kept. I had learned, but hadn't shared with anyone (although Dumbledore had guessed) that Snape still kept the photographs Colin took of Lily Evans separate from all the other pictures, as if holding her separate from everyone else. I thought that, perhaps, when Snape was able to put those photographs with the others in the album, he'd be ready to meet everyone in person again. Until then, he'd chosen to remain on his own.

"Any progress on your own problem?" James asked me, to distract himself from thinking about Snape.

I shook my head. "I suppose Albus and Gellert and off discussing possible ideas," I said, waving a hand carelessly. "But I still don't have a clue what might work. The living world just isn't accessible from this reality."

"That was probably the most ironic thing about coming here," Sirius said, looking thoughtful. "I'd expected we would be able to look into the living world any time we wanted, to see what was going on in the lives of those we left behind. But we have no way to touch it at all, unless someone there calls us to them, in a dream, or by the Resurrection Stone."

The Resurrection Stone, I'd found, was a topic of frequent discussion here, though they were always held in hushed tones. Many here had made claims over the centuries, to have been touched by the Stone and brought back to the living world, to speak with someone there, but most of their stories had been shown to be mere imagination; the descendants of Cadmus Peverell, the original owner and believed creator of the Stone, had carefully preserved it within the family, until at some point it had been set in a heavy, somewhat clumsily-made gold ring.

Though few here knew it, I had used the Stone myself, to call Harry Potter from this reality back to Earth and ask whether there was something he'd left undone, something I could do for him, after he'd decided to travel on with Albus Dumbledore and I remained in his earthly body, taking his place, so that "he" could defeat Voldemort in a final battle in the Great Hall at Hogwarts. I had felt a bit guilty that I'd taken over the life he should have had; I'd married Ginny and had given her the children he should have had with her. As it turned out, Harry did miss something from living world, though he didn't even realize it: Ginny. The fragment of thought that held open the way from the living world to the "waiting room" of the afterlife was Harry's final thoughts in his life; they had been of Ginny, and he'd spent over two decades in the afterlife before he realized there was something he needed to go back to. Now Harry was back on Earth, alive and in his own body, and (I hoped) happy and enjoying the life he had once again. There was nothing of that I wanted to take from him — the only thing I wanted was to get out of here, myself.

"Do you think Harry will ever use the Stone again?" Sirius asked me, curious. "You have all of his memories, James — you're probably best equipped to predict what he might do."

I was silent for some time, considering how Harry might reply. Finally, I said, "I think Harry realizes you're all here and waiting for him. When he was young and living with the Dursleys, Harry was almost desperate to know what his real family would be like, but I think he got a taste of what the Resurrection Stone offers —and _doesn't_ offer — when he looked into the Mirror of Erised, in his first year at Hogwarts. I think what it showed him about unfulfilled desires gave him the strength to look within himself for what his family could offer him — it was wise of Albus to allow him that glimpse of the Mirror."

"Why, thank you, James," Albus Dumbledore said as he entered the parlor, nodding greetings to all of us. "I was rather happy that Harry responded as well to the Mirror as he did — especially since, as it turned out, it offered a particularly ingenious method of hiding the Philosopher's Stone from Voldemort and Quirrell, until Harry could obtain it."

And _that_ sparked a memory within me. "Oh, yes, the Philosopher's Stone, Albus! Interesting that you told Harry it had been destroyed, back in his first year, only to have it turn up in a box on your desk six years later."

Dumbledore's smile was a bit sheepish. "I thought it best for everyone, Harry included, to believe it destroyed." His expression turned wistful. "I had intended to study the Stone a bit further, before turning it over to the Department of Mysteries, but alas, time slipped away before I could do so."

"It was one of the reasons why I ended up staying in Harry's body, instead of letting him die in peace," I said, matter-of-factly. "Strange how all these circumstances contrived, over the years, to bring us to this point."

"Life has a way of doing that," Dumbledore agreed.

"Have you and Gellert come up with anything else for me?" I asked him.

"I am afraid not," Dumbledore replied, his voice heavy. "Without an actual connection back to the living world, such as the thread of Harry's final thoughts, which led you here in the first place, we have been unable to formulate a workable hypothesis which would allow you to return in a reasonably safe manner. I am very sorry."

I hadn't expected a breakthrough. "Thank you for trying, Albus. I'll be sure to thank Gellert the next time I see him, as well." I shrugged. "Well, I'll keep thinking about it, too — maybe something will turn up." I walked to the parlor door. "I'm going to go for a walk, to think about things," I said.

"Want some company?" James asked.

"No, thanks," I said, declining the offer. "I'll talk to you all later." I walked out of Dumbledore's cottage and began to hike down one of the trails that went into the countryside surrounding it. There really wasn't much else to talk about, I was thinking. It was one of the little flaws in the afterlife — there really wasn't much to _do_, once you'd decided you were completely happy and contented with yourself and everyone around you.

From _that_ standpoint, James wanting to go find Snape and talk to him had more merit than simply standing around waiting for Snape to pull his head out of his arse and snap out of whatever funk he'd been in since coming here. We'd probably done both Grindelwald and Bellatrix more good by finding them and shaking down their little mutual commiseration society than by leaving them alone.

"What are you doing?" I smiled at hearing the by-now familiar voice of Bellatrix Lestrange, as she fell into step beside me.

"Hello, Bella," I greeted her. "Just out for a walk."

"Any progress on your quest?" she asked, not able to avoid a hint of mockery in her tone. I hadn't talked to her much since we'd returned from the place where we'd found her and Grindelwald; she mostly avoided the others, whereas I spent most of my time with them. She normally found me during my occasional solitary walks, like now.

"Not much," I admitted. "How are you doing?"

She shrugged, saying nothing. We walked on for a while, in silence, me looking around at the beautiful countryside, her simply walking alongside me, as if that was all she really wanted. I had long suspected that was all she did want — someone to accept her without question. I suppose that's what Gellert had done for her, and what Voldemort had done as well, both for their own selfish purposes, of course.

After a while, we came to a small copse of trees, and I pointed to a shady spot where she and I both sat down. It seemed like a pleasant place to sit for a while; neither of us was tired, of course. I looked at Bellatrix, noticing that her appearance was slightly different than before — she was a shade less pale and her eyes weren't as heavily shadowed or dark as they'd seemed before. Her lips were still full and red, but not as unnatural-looking. In short, she looked more human now than I ever seen before. I wondered if she was feeling more connected with the others here, not just me.

"What will happen to me when you're gone, James?" she asked suddenly, as if she'd just heard my thoughts. "Where will I go, what will I do?"

I smiled. "Frankly, my dear," I replied, "I don't give a damn." She looked at me, wide-eyed and confused by my remark. "I wasn't serious," I assured her. "It was just a line from an old movie, when someone asked the same questions you just did."

"It sounded like something…the Dark Lord would have said," she said, slowly. "For a moment, I thought…"

"What did you think?"  
"I thought — I thought you might tell me you were really him," she finally said. I shook my head, and she looked away.

"You're going to have to accept that he didn't make it, Bella," I told her. "However strong or powerful you think he was, he destroyed his own soul in his quest to make himself immortal."

"You don't know that," she muttered, still refusing to accept the fact that no one had seen Voldemort in this reality since his final death. Harry had seen him, as a wailing, flayed baby, in the waiting area, when Voldemort tried to kill him in the Forbidden Forest. I had looked again, later, but the place had been empty then. "Souls cannot die," she said. "Therefore, he must be alive somewhere."

"Agreed," I said. "But not here."

She looked at me, and there was anger in her eyes. "You don't care," she told me, resentment seething in every syllable she uttered. "You probably don't even want him here, because I would want him more than I'd want _you_ — at least _he_ knew when he had a good thing!"

"You don't want _me_ at all, Bella," I told her flatly. "You just want to grab and hold onto power, power to protect yourself, because you're basically an insecure person who makes up for her insecurities with displays of power and sadism." Her eyes were flashing with fury but I kept on talking. "The only reason you sided with Voldemort is because he seemed more self-assured than someone like Albus Dumbledore, because he told you he would win, and you wanted to believe that. He may have even made you think he felt something special for you.

"But he deceived you, because Voldemort only ever cared about himself. When enraged, he would kill his followers as quickly as he would his enemies. That's certainly not the action of a person who values his allies. Wherever he is, Bella, you are better off without him."

Bellatrix stared at me for a long time, her eyes fixed on mine. Finally, without a word, she stood and walked away. Within a few steps, she had faded entirely from view. I suppose she had at last realized that there would never be anything between me and her. And it was true that, frankly, I didn't give a damn.

***

I stayed where I was for what may have been a long time. Of course, there's no way to tell, when time isn't really passing. It's _all_ relative, mind you; relativity is a concept of both the physical universe and the mind. As Einstein said, when you are courting a nice girl an hour seems like a second; when you sit on a red-hot cinder a second seems like an hour — that's relativity.

Unfortunately, Einstein wasn't here (at least as far as I knew) — I might've been able to use his help with my problem. I chuckled to myself. I was being facetious — if Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald, two of the most famous practitioners of the magical arts, couldn't figure out how to get me back home, I doubted whether a physicist who had never even fully accepted quantum mechanics would fare much better!

I was tired of waiting around doing nothing. I let my essence expand once again, until I filled the whole of this reality. I could sense everyone in this place, and I was a part of everything that was here. The great majority of those who'd come here were wizards, though I sensed some who weren't — it was possible, it seemed, to get here even if you weren't magical. I suspected that, as I'd learned earlier, it was possible for the people here to move between these thought-realities, just as I had done between physical realities in the metaverse, the superposition of all material realities. No Albert Einstein here, though, as far as I could tell.

At this ten gazillion-foot view, I wasn't getting a lot of detail about the inhabitants of these realities, but I seemed to sense that, even through all of the thought-realities I could access, individuals were unique, unlike the material realities, where many different versions of people existed, each in their material phase-space. That seemed contradictory, unless only certain material realities had a corresponding thought-reality. With no way I knew of to correlate the two types of realities, there was nothing I could learn about that aspect.

I had to conjecture that these thought-realities didn't overlap, for some reason. It didn't seem reasonable that there was only one Albus Dumbledore who had died. I certainly knew of several, in the various failed Harry Potter universes I'd visited over the years. Dumbledore was as big a target as Harry was — even bigger, in some ways, since Voldemort always saw Dumbledore as an imminent threat to his safety, even on the first day that they'd met. Dumbledore had always been the bar Tom Riddle measured himself against, even after he'd named himself Lord Voldemort and considered himself more powerful than Dumbledore.

At this view, too, I could spot some anomalies that weren't apparent when I was more localized. I could sense a few individuals who seemed to be in more than one place at once. I concentrated on one, learning that he identified himself as "Herpos," and that he had lived during the days of ancient Greece. I immediately recognized him as the Dark wizard known in modern times as Herpo the Foul, the first wizard to create a basilisk, and the first wizard to create a Horcrux for himself, which explained why I sensed him in more than one location — he was so proud of these accomplishments that the fragments of his soul had maintained their separate existences, even after entering the afterlife!

It was also relatively simple, from my current vantage point of being present everywhere within this reality, to examine the individuals within it. I could see Bellatrix who, interestingly, was now in close proximity with both Dumbledore and Grindelwald; her soul was whole, but rather tattered, as if rent many times by all the murder she had done in life. Grindelwald's soul, though a bit frayed as well, looked much more mended than Bella's did, as if the decades he'd spent in Nuremgard had given him time to reflect upon his crimes and repent of them.

Curious at what Bellatrix might have to say to Dumbledore and Grindelwald, especially so soon after leaving me, I contracted my essence back down to its normal configuration in this reality, changing my point of convergence to be just outside Dumbledore's cottage. Entering the building, I found the three of them in Dumbledore's parlor. Bellatrix shook her head angrily at my entrance, but both of the elder wizards were excited to see me.

"Welcome, James! Bellatrix has just put forth an interesting theory," Dumbledore said, speaking quickly, "of where we may find Voldemort."

"In the 'waiting area'," I guessed.

"How did you know?" Grindelwald said, with a frown, as if the surprise was ruined.

"Just a lucky guess," I shrugged. "It was the last place he was seen before his Killing Curse backfired on him, finally destroying him."

"The flaw in that theory," Dumbledore added, with a cautionary finger held up, "is that the waiting area has been searched many times in the past, and he has never been found."

"But it's the only place he can be!" Bellatrix said grimly, giving me a smoldering look of hatred for good measure. "You keep insisting that souls cannot die, Dumbledore!"

"They cannot," Dumbledore agreed. "But they can be weakened, disabled, even made nearly inactive, depending on what the individual has done to themselves during their lives. Voldemort ripped his soul into pieces and scattered the fragments among artifacts of power such as Salazar Slytherin's locket, Hufflepuff's cup, Ravenclaw's diadem, and the Resurrection Stone. When those Horcruxes were finally found and eliminated, nearly half of them were destroyed with another artifact of great power — Godric Gryffindor's sword. I myself destroyed the ring Marvolo Gaunt had owned, and the locket and Voldemort's snake, Nagini, were likewise destroyed with it; the Sword absorbed the fragments of Voldemort's soul — they never would have appeared in the waiting area."

"So, you're saying that the Dark Lord can never be made whole again?" Bellatrix said, slowly. "He can never feel remorse for, or repent, of the wrongs he's done?"

"It would be very hard," Grindelwald put in, speaking seriously. "But it is possible. A soul is unique in that it is always one essence, even when divided. The fragments are always joined, even by the slimmest tendrils of thought, so that with sufficient concentration they can be brought together again. It can be painful — I know just how hard it is, too," Grindelwald added, feelingly. "I spent long decades agonizing over my crimes, in Nuremgard."

But if all this was true, I thought, then — "Perhaps we should go and see if we can find him there," I said.

Dumbledore smiled. "I thought you might want to do that, James. Shall we be off, then?"

It seemed like only a short walk from Dumbledore's cottage to a rather high, imposing stone wall, a wall I didn't remember from when I first came here. In the wall was an iron door, and Dumbledore carefully opened the bolts and clasps holding it shut, then swung it open, allowing Grindelwald, Bellatrix and myself to pass through with him.

On the other side was the familiar whiteness of the waiting area, the blank slate that was as easily malleable by thought as where we'd just come from. "Bellatrix," Dumbledore said, "you know the Dark Lord better than anyone else here — what environment would put him most at ease, would be most likely to draw him out?"

Bellatrix looked thoughtful for some time (an unusual occurrence in itself!) then a room appeared around us. Our surroundings darkened, the light becoming low and flickering, and the atmosphere grew warm and moist. The room filled with elaborate wall and floor decorations: exquisitely carved wooden chairs and divans, tall, ornate oil lamps, finely carved frames containing pictures of old wizards and witches, all glowering at us with sinister, brooding visages. Plush carpeting appeared on the floor, dark and heavy. It reminded me somewhat, through Harry's memories, of Malfoy Manor, but that was not what Bellatrix had evoked, even though she was certainly familiar with the Malfoy home, as she had lived there with her sister, Narcissa, who was married to Lucius Malfoy.

"He feels most comfortable in dark, warm places," Bellatrix said, looking around hopefully. "I wish I had thought of this earlier!"

"We _have_ looked here before, Bellatrix," Dumbledore noted again, examining the room with mild interest. "If he does not wish to be found, it will be very difficult to locate him, especially here."

"Why is that?" I asked. "What's different about 'here,' as opposed to where we came from?"

"It is only a theory," Dumbledore spoke carefully, "but this reality can lead to a multitude of other realities, both material and immaterial. It has been described by some as _Limbo_, but there are no theological considerations to this place, since it does not seem to be under the command of any supernatural entity, either beatific or malefic."

I shook my head. "You're talking gobbledegook, Albus."

Dumbledore looked surprised. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize I'd lapsed into speaking the goblins' tongue."

"No, I meant —"

"Shhh!" Bellatrix hissed, and pointed toward a door in the opposite corner. As we watched, the knob of the door turned slowly, then pushed open slightly. No one came through, but the floor was obscured by a divan standing between us and the door. We could hear a shuffling sound, and an eye appeared at the corner of the divan, then retreated instantly. We heard rapid shuffling toward the door, which was still ajar.

"Wait!" Bellatrix said quickly. "Please don't leave!" She walked slowly toward the door, taking a long time to cross the room. As we watched, she leaned over behind the divan, talking softly to whomever was behind it. I could hear a muffled whimpering, and Bella comforting replies, spoken with surprising tenderness and even, perhaps, love. Such compassion had never seemed a part of Bellatrix character in life.

After a time she stood up and came out from behind the divan, bringing with her a young boy with black hair and dark eyes. His face was red and puffy from crying. He looked at us with fright in his eyes, but Bellatrix, an arm around his shoulders, spoke reassuringly to him, "Don't be afraid, they are friends." She pointed to Albus. "Do you remember Professor Dumbledore? He was headmaster of the magic school you attended." The boy looked at her, nodding once.

She looked at us. "This is Tom," she said. "Tom Riddle." There was a hint of warning in her voice, as if she wanted to avoid using any of his other names in front of him. "Tom tells me he's felt very sick for a long time, but he just began to feel better lately. Then he sensed this place and came to see what was in it."

"Interesting," Grindelwald said, "as if the parts of his soul —" but at a furious look from Bellatrix he stopped speaking.

"James," Dumbledore murmured. "There is something you should check."

"What? What do you mean?" Bellatrix demanded, starting to move protectively in front of the boy.

I stepped up to her. "Let me talk to him," I said.

"What are you going to do to him?"

"I'm going to help him, if I can." She looked into my eyes, still hating me, but she knew I was telling the truth. She crouched down, putting herself on eye level with the boy.

"Tom," she said softly. "This man is named James. He wants to talk to you." At the frightened expression on his face she added, "I won't let anything happen to you, I promise." She stood up and moved past me, whispering "Be careful!" for my ears only. I nodded and looked down at Tom.

"Tom, do you remember where you were before you were here?" I asked. Tom shook his head slowly. "Do you remember being in a place with other children?" Tom considered this for a bit, then nodded.

As we spoke, I was invisibly surrounding him with my essence, undetectable by Bellatrix or anyone else present. If what Grindelwald had said earlier was true, Tom was still connected to every other fragment of his soul, no matter where they were. And, if Dumbledore was correct about the Sword of Gryffindor absorbing the fragments of Voldemort's soul from the Horcruxes it destroyed, part of him _still existed in material reality_, connected to this young boy by the slimmest of thoughts. But still connected, which gave me a chance.

"Do you remember writing in a diary?" I asked him. Tom looked at me, confused, as if he remembered something but wasn't sure what it was he was remembering.

"Careful," Bellatrix said warningly, but I ignored her. I could sense _something_, but I needed to stimulate his memories, make him remember things from the parts of his soul that were still in the material universe, if I was going to trace their location.

"Do you remember your father?" Tom shook his head, backing away slightly.

"Don't ask him that!" Bellatrix shouted, starting to move toward him, but I immobilized her, rooting her to the spot where she stood. "Bastard! Let me go!" she shrieked, trying to twist free of my invisible grip.

Dumbledore and Grindelwald were looking on in a combination of fascination and horror, but they didn't interfere. "Your father, Tom," I said again. "He was a Muggle. Do you remember what a Muggle is?"

Tom's eyes were squeezing shut, he was shaking his head violently from side to side. "No! NO!" he shouted. "Don't make me remember! It hurts!"

But there was no help for that, if Tom was going to put himself back together again. I don't know if Bellatrix thought she was going to help him get through the painful process of reclaiming his soul, but to get things started he was going to have to deal with the pain and misery he'd inflicted on others in his life. And to do that, he was going to have to remember.

I felt the exquisite pain of a thought leading away from Tom's mind as he remembered something, a memory that was a part of him _elsewhere_. I followed that thought, ignoring the pain, staying with it, as everything around me disappeared and I sped through a dizzying array of colorsightsounds. Everything was jumblingtogether and fal ling ap art. I finally felt myself go cold and rigid—my senses simultaneously dulled, and sharpened. I was blind, deaf and dumb, but I was also strong and powerful.

At last I understood: I was now the Sword of Gryffindor!

Tom's other memories were here with me as well, within the Sword; I could feel them shrieking in anger and agony, trapped by the magic that had drawn them from the ruined Horcruxes the Sword had destroyed. I could not break free of the Sword, but there was only the tiniest bit of myself here — the rest of me was still back in the waiting area, with Dumbledore, Grindelwald, Bellatrix and Tom.

I withdrew most of myself from the waiting area, passing through Tom's mind and along the connection I'd established to the other parts of his soul. From the vantage point of Bellatrix and the others, it probably appeared as if I'd simply vanished. Dimly, as if from a great distance, I could hear Bellatrix screaming, as Tom had fallen to the floor, writhing, when I disappeared.

But now that I had come back in the real world, I was much more able to control my essence than before. I moved out of the Sword, assuming a human and invisible form, and found myself in the Gryffindor common room. The Sword was hanging over the mantle of the fireplace, inside a glass case. I read the engraved plaque beneath it:

**_The Sword of Godric Gryffindor_**  
_Created by Ragnuk the First, Master Swordmaker_  
**_Sword of all True Gryffindors_**

The common room was empty, I saw, except for a single occupant, one who was now staring at me in utter surprise. Obviously, he could sense me even though I was invisible.

"Hello, Nick," I said. "Sorry to drop in unannounced."

"Who — who _are_ you?" Sir Nicholas de Mimsy Porpington asked. "What are you doing in Gryffindor Tower? And how did you get here?"

"It's a long story, Nick," I said. "Unfortunately, I don't have time to explain."

"I'm afraid I must insist —" Nick began, but before he could finish, I raised my arm and the Sword flew through the glass case, shattering it, and into my hand. I vanished from the room, reappearing (still invisible) in Harry's den at his house in Godric's Hollow.

A quick scan of the house showed that no one was home. I looked around Harry's den for a clue about the current date. A Holyhead Harpies calendar on the wall was turned to July 2020; on Harry's desk, a Famous Wizards daily calendar showed the date as 31 July, Harry's birthday. I smiled: he would be 40 years old today, a milestone.

But first things first, I needed to do what I came here to do. I was still holding a slim connection back to the young Tom Riddle, who had finally shown himself, apparently after the few fragments of his soul that had made it into the "waiting are," or Limbo, of the afterlife, had rejoined. The rest of Tom was now a part of the Sword of Gryffindor, but that was something I planned on changing.

I didn't know what it was going to do to Tom, pulling the final bits of his soul from the Sword and sending them on to rejoin the rest of him. Presumably, it couldn't kill him, but beyond that, I had no idea what might happen. I let my essence flow into the Sword, locating the energy that was Tom Riddle's soul and drawing it away from the other magical energies suffusing the metal. I drew those fragments of Riddle along the connection I'd made with the rest of his soul pushing them back together at the other end.

Tom began thrashing around, screaming, and I felt Bellatrix rush forward, holding him and trying to comfort him. Tom's mind, temporarily overloaded by the rush of memories back into himself, fell unconscious. I used the opportunity to speak to them directly, one last time.

Opening Tom's eyes, I looked at Dumbledore, Grindelwald, and Bellatrix. "This is James," I said.

"You Mudblood bastard!" Bellatrix snarled at me. "What did you do to him?!"

"Relax, Bella," I told her, calmly. "Tom's back together again, for better or worse." I looked at Dumbledore. "The plan worked — I was able to use Tom's connection to the other parts of his soul to find a way back into the material metaverse.

"In return, I took the fragments of Tom's soul, which were in the Sword of Gryffindor, and rejoined them with him."

"Amazing," Dumbledore murmured. "And so Tom can return with us now to — Beyond."

"If that's what he wants," I said. I looked at Bellatrix. "I hope you have what you wanted as well," I said to her.

She looked into Tom's eyes for a long moment. "I do," she said finally. "Thank you."

I nodded. "Good luck to all of you," I said, and withdrew.

***

I returned the Sword of Gryffindor back to its case in the common room of Gryffindor Tower, repairing the glass that I'd broken when taking it, and leaving everything else exactly as it had been. I wondered if Nearly Headless Nick would tell anyone about our encounter — although, without any evidence as to what had happened, it seemed like everyone would accuse him of simply imagining me.

Afterwards, I waited in Harry's den, invisible, until he and his family returned later that evening from his birthday celebration. I'd heard him and Ginny putting Lily to bed, and wishing James and Albus pleasant dreams, before he'd come in to make a few notes prior to turning in for the evening. I waited until he was nearly through with his notes before becoming visible, in a chair next to the heating stove he kept in the room, and said his name quietly: "Harry."

He turned around quickly, surprised but not frightened, his hand poised to draw his wand. Seeing me, he looked even more surprised, but took his hand away from his wand. "I wondered what had happened to you," he said finally. "You never reappeared, after I returned here."

"I couldn't," I said. "I had no way back after you recalled your final thought."

"Oh," he said, frowning. "Sorry, I didn't realize…"

"It was all right," I added, waving off his apology. "I was worried you might not return if you knew I wouldn't be able to get out of there."

"You _were_ able, though," he pointed out. "Obviously, you're _here_, now."

I smiled broadly. "It took a bit of doing, but yes, I did get out. I hope things weren't too traumatic for you here, after your return."

"It did take a bit of convincing on my part," Harry admitted. "Ginny was pretty certain I was still you, trying to put something over on her. Ron was pretty skeptical as well. Fortunately, Hermione believed and helped me convince them I was really myself."

"Good," I said.

Harry turned his chair to look at me head on. "So — er, why _are_ you back here, now? Surely not to wish me a happy birthday?"

I grinned. "It's just a happy coincidence I turned up today. I'm just passing through, and decided to stop in and say hello, one last time."

"One last time?" Harry repeated. "Where are you headed now? Off to find another universe where 'I' don't quite make it, and help it out a bit?"

"No," I shook my head. "I think I'm done with those. I don't feel like killing Voldemort any more."

"What will you do, then?"

"Maybe I should be more proactive," I mused. "Instead of helping your survivors, I should try to find ways to help you, before things begin to get complicated."

"You mean," Harry asked, "like helping me before I learn about Hogwarts, and magic?"

"Something like that."

"You could go back and stop Voldemort from murdering my parents," Harry suggested, plaintively.

"Right," I agreed. "I could even go back before Tom Riddle was born, and stop his mother from meeting his father. But in that case, you might never even be born yourself."

"A small price to pay, to rid the world of Voldemort," Harry pointed out.

"I think I like my idea better," I said, standing. "It would give you the opportunity to make your own decisions, rather than having so many of them made for you."

"I don't see it that way," Harry said, standing as well, "but you make your own choices." He extended his hand to me. "Anyway, I'm glad you stopped by. I wanted to thank you, again, for giving me my life back."

I took his hand, shaking it warmly. "You're welcome, Harry. Use it well."

I vanished from Harry's home, and from this version of his life. I didn't know whether I would do what I'd said to Harry, to try and help him in his pre-Hogwarts days, but it would have to be better than anything I'd done after he'd died. Preservation of life should always win out over retribution for death.

The End


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: Chapter 1 of Ex Machina II is up, continuing the story of James Monroe's interactions in the life of Harry Potter. In Ex Machina II, James enters a universe just after Voldemort has killed James and Lily, and Dumbledore has placed the infant Harry with the Dursleys. In an effort to give Harry a chance to be a better wizard, James visits the Dursleys, making them an offer they won't refuse.**


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